Even A Serpent
by SilverLocke980
Summary: UPDATED! NINTH CHAPTER, PART 3 UP! Occurs after OofTP. Harry Potter returns to school, and Dumbledore greets him with a story... and a request to find the Spirits that can make this world or break it. And so Harry sets forth, with eight others, to search
1. Default Chapter

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY TRADEMARKS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
- Indicates italics (unless I remember to use QuickEdit and do it right, anyway...)  
  
Hey everybody. Silverlocke980 here. Hope this doesn't go wrong...  
  
I've had an idea recently. My own Harry Potter fanfic, " Harry's Madness", is a great idea, and I'm not abandoning it (heaven forbid! The fans would kill me!) but rather, taking another idea and making something out of it. There's so much in the Harry Potter universe.... how can you resist making stories out of it?  
  
But I digress. I must introduce myself first. Many of you who will be reading this fanfic will be those who enjoy my Dark Harry story "Harry's Madness." To those fans, thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy this story. But be warned; this is very different. For one thing, Harry Potter is not evil (though he isn't exactly good, either), and Malfoy actually makes it past the first chapter. Mostly because I want to play with him.... (evil chuckle)  
  
To those who are new here, allow me to greet you. I am Silverlocke980, storyteller and talespinner extraordinaire, come from across all dream and nightmare to tell my tales. I do not claim to be a great writer- despite all evidence to the contrary, I'm not boastful :)- but I do hope you'll enjoy this story. Prepare for something quite different from anything you've ever read before, though....  
  
It starts the semester right after OoftP, and I do mean right as the Semester starts. Hopefully this time around my story won't confuse Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley...  
  
And as they say, in showbusiness and on the classic anime "Big O", I do believe it to be  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Harry Potter  
  
Even A Serpent  
  
Chapter 1  
  
First Day  
  
On Train to Hogwarts, first day of new semester, train room 115. Morning.  
  
Harry Potter sat down heavily in his seat, tactly ignoring his two friends as they glanced at him from the corners of their eyes. He had suffered much, these past few days.... but they really weren't days, were they? It had been several months since Sirius had died. And yet it felt like days. As if no time had passed since his godfather's death. Since one of the few ties still binding him to Good- to the right in the world- was split asunder. If not for those few others near him, for those that really mattered to him (Ron and Hermione and Dumbledore and all the others), Harry believed that he would simply drift off into darkness. Or maybe madness. He didn't know. Nor did he really care.  
  
He sighed then, a deep sigh that came from the very soul of his being. Ron looked at him, and the brave young Gryffindor finally worked up the courage to say something.  
  
" Are you all right, mate?" Ron said. " I mean, I know things haven't been going all that great, but still..."  
  
" Still what?" Harry asked, and an unbidden smile came to his face. It was cynical, hard, cold, like the painted smile of a jester's face. " Should I still be happy? Still be cheery?" His smile broadened, and even as it did he realized it wasn't a smile; it was a _grin_, an honest-to-God demon grin, and as he turned this newfound companion on Ron his teeth glared in the sunlight from the open window beside him. " Should I still be a courageous hero? "Damn the torpedoes" and all that? Is that what you mean?"  
  
" Harry," Ron said, turning his face from Harry (it was almost a flinch; the hardness and darkness rolling off of Harry could almost be felt), " I didn't mean like that. I meant..."  
  
Harry sighed again, feeling his hardness drop from him like water sloughing off his clothes. His grin disappeared, and his face resumed it's somber aspect. " I know what you meant. And I'm sorry. It's just that..." He didn't finish. He couldn't finish. How did you describe, in pitiful and useless words, what it felt like to suffer as he did? To rage endlessly at all the world, to have no vent upon which you could unload your steam? To be considered different by all, either a hero or a fool, a madman or a legend? How did you tell your friends, particularly two such as this? One was caught up in her own wisdom and the other was a knight, a courageous and brave man who didn't even know he was courageous and brave. How did you tell them that this world seemed to mean nothing, that it all seemed a lie and a joke and a fool's game played with mortals? How?  
  
" Nothing," Harry said, finishing as pathetically as he feared he would. Inwardly he cursed. There were just some things one could not say.  
  
" We're sorry for your loss," Hermione began, trying in her own way to talk to him. Harry turned to her, his eyes shaded even though they lay full in sunlight.  
  
" It's alright," Harry said, then turned his eyes to Ron. " Now. What has happened? You've sent me very few owls over the summer. Is there something else I'm being left out of? Like last time?... Being different is nowhere near as much fun as it seems. Tell me everything you know."  
  
Hermione looked away at that; the memory of his rage in Sirius' house was still fresh in her mind. " We're not hiding anything from you, Harry," she whispered into the room.  
  
" Sure you are." Harry grinned again, that serpent's smile gleaming out from darkness. " For my own good. For my protection. Just like last time."  
  
" I'm not!" Hermione almost shouted, refuting his words, but Harry felt something different behind that. What?... What was he feeling? A sense that not all was revealed, that masks were being held up when he'd asked that they be cast down? Something beyond the words said? What was he feeling?  
  
Harry turned his head and said no more. Before he did, Hermione would have sworn on her deathbed that his scar had looked longer.  
  
" Harry, I'm coming clean," Ron said. Hermione looked up sharply when he said that, and made a soundless "No" at him. Harry saw it and ignored it. " I didn't send you many letters because Dumbledore asked me not to. I know you're probably mad at that..." He trailed off, waiting for Harry to explode, but Harry had turned cold to such things and kept his mouth shut. Ron continued, uneasy, waiting for the eruption he was sure would come soon, " and he did say it was to protect you." Ron spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of appeasement. " I'm sorry man. But I just do what I'm told by me mum and Dumbledore."  
  
" Something that may damn you," Harry said, looking out the window of the train at the countryside rolling by. He sighed. " Thank you, Ron. Truth is important to me.... don't worry about harming me. I have walked through the fires of hell itself. I have seen and dreamed of things that would rend others apart. I'm a survivor. Ever since birth, I have survived. First it was Voldemort; then the Dursleys; after that, Hogwarts and the world of Wizards. Regardless of the trial, I have survived. And I will continue to do so." He shifted in his seat, looking out the window, and to both his friends he seemed to have gained years of age in a second. The man looking out the window wasn't sixteen; thirty, forty, maybe, but not sixteen.  
  
And then Draco Malfoy walked in. Harry looked over at him and almost grinned again. Ah, yes. He had been waiting for this.  
  
" Well, well, well," Malfoy said, arrogant as ever, " if it isn't Harry Potter. What are you doing now? Still moping?" Draco gloated in his power. He knew nothing about Sirius, but it hadn't exactly been a secret that Harry was depressed. " Whatever for? Lose some award or special privilege with Dumbledore?" He chuckled again, the ephemeral pretty boy in blond. Behind him, ever present as always, Crabbe and Goyle chuckled too. Both stood outside the doorway, as if such a complicated device was too much for their small minds to figure out.  
  
" I've lost many things," Harry said, that insane grin spreading across his face again as he looked at Malfoy. " In fact, I've lost almost everything I've ever owned. Why, everything has been taken from me. And that makes me realize something."  
  
In the few seconds before Harry leapt to the attack, he whispered one last thing into the sudden silence of the room (and why had it grown silent? Did fear touch Malfoy's heart, at the sight of that grin?).  
  
" Why do I care about anything?"  
  
Harry leapt forward and slugged Malfoy across the right cheek, hard. It was a perfect shot. Malfoy recoiled, spitting blood from his cut inner cheek. Spluttering, he grabbed for his wand. Harry's hand shot out again, this time grabbing his wrist and twisting it. Malfoy let out another spluttered cry and dropped his wand. Still holding onto Malfoy's right wrist with his own right hand, Harry drove the palm of his free hand into Malfoy's chin. His teeth were slammed back together, and he barely missed losing his tongue to his own teeth. Dazed, Malfoy fell back. Harry held on, backhanding Malfoy in his already battered right cheek. The act caused Malfoy's already busted inner cheek to split wide open. Blood poured out.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle tried to push into the room, but together they were too big. Struggling to enter, they could only watch as Harry continuing bashing Malfoy's face in. Both wore comically stupefied expressions on their faces, completely surprised that "weak little Potter" (as Malfoy called him in private) was capable of such a violent, brutal act. Their minds almost completely conditioned to go with whatever Malfoy thought ("Sheep", he'd told Pansy Parkinson one night, as they lay together in a secluded section of Hogwarts, " that's all they are, sheep,"), they were unprepared to either accept or deal with this new reality. Their initial reaction was their automatic attempt to defend Malfoy, and following that command was all they could focus on at the moment. To do more was to invite madness. To allow other realities their truths.  
  
To have to think for themselves.  
  
So, like all those souls who prefer to be followers, they were trying desperately to rescue their leader. He'd explain it all to them later. They were sure of it.  
  
So long as he made it to that later, anyway.  
  
For his part, Malfoy realized what kind of trouble he was in almost from the start. He had been deliberately pushing Harry towards this, towards combat, towards some act so heinous that it would get him thrown out of school forever. Malfoy had always known this day would come, though he'd always assumed it would be a wand duel, or maybe a weapon duel (weapons practice was starting this year for their class). He'd never expected to be fighting Harry without either of those things. Malfoy had always been an okay fighter, and a better fighter, this year, than most; he had deliberately went towards the darkest, most dangerous alleys of many Wizard towns for the purpose of getting into real fights and proving his worth. So long as he had a weapon, he felt confident, strong, powerful; but now that he was unarmed, he found that he couldn't trust his body. He lashed at Harry with his free hand, but felt nothing but air greet his closed fist. A knee rose into his stomach, and he let out a very unmanly cry. He freaked then, flailing and striking at random, and when he felt Harry's iron grasp leave his right hand, he continuing flinging his limbs out. He connected with nothing.  
  
Harry had let go of Malfoy's hand to slip back, and as he stepped back he saw Malfoy's left hand soar towards his face. Harry grinned and moved his head in plenty of time to dodge Malfoy's fist. He looked at it as it passed him, marveling that for some reason it seemed he could just _watch_ it, that Malfoy was moving so slowly that Harry's slightest twitch could dodge his blows- or counter them. Harry struck out with his right fist, marveling at how good the impact felt. In a life where the winds of change blew constantly, this feeling of solidity, of purpose, of control in his own hands, was perfect. Harry struck again and again, feeling the force resilent in his own body, the strength that was his to command, a strength that was just his own and was not dependent on outside factors.  
  
Harry discovered that he rather liked this.  
  
At this point, Crabbe and Goyle managed to finally get in. Running up like the big oaf he was, Crabbe swung his fist in a hammerblow, arcing it through the air. He intended to bust Harry's brains out the back of his skull. Within seconds of impact, he froze, Hermione having drawn her wand and Stunned him. Goyle charged up, but before he could reach the fighting pair, Ron had tackled him to the ground. The brave young Gryffindor and gigantic Slytherin fought on the floor, twisting and turning. Goyle had the obvious advantage, but Ron was fighting for a friend, and intended to fight like hell. Soon, both were Stunned, Hermione having fired indiscriminately at both of them.  
  
" Hey! Hermione-!" Ron said, feeling the effects of the Stunning spell. Goyle, at the moment on top of him, wasn't helping. Ron knew that the bastard had to weigh at least a ton, maybe two. It was getting very hard to breathe.  
  
" Sorry!" she exclaimed. " I didn't mean to hit you... Oh!"  
  
Hermione stared at Harry, her eyes wide, her mouth dropped open with shock. She couldn't beleive what she was seeing.  
  
" Harry!" she shouted at him. In the doorway outside, several stewards and attendants had come running at the sounds of struggle, and as they ran into the room all stared in amazement at Harry Potter.  
  
Malfoy lay slumped against a nearby wall, blood pouring from his right cheek. Harry was standing back from him, body clenched. His arms were held up in a boxing pose, his muscles flexing so hard that the veins showed up loud and clear. Harry was not impressively muscular, but at the moment his muscles looked enormous. He was glowing. His eyes were focused on Malfoy, his face empty of all emotion save concentration.   
  
He struck.  
  
Later, observers would report that Harry Potter became a blur, that all they saw was a shadow as Harry attacked Draco. And for most of them it was true. But Hermione saw a different story. Her eyes, which she'd trained to notice even the smallest difference or deviation in any material she looked at, allowed her to see what Harry had really done.  
  
Harry rushed across the floor, his fists lashing out faster than the eye could follow. Energy rippled off him, throwing arcs and streaks of light into the room that dissipated so fast that all they left on the eye was a contrail. An afterimage followed Harry, producing the blur that so many bystanders recalled later. He struck again and again, unconsciously imitating Dudley in his boxing poses (Dudley had recently become something of a champion boxer, and Harry had watched him train many times) unleashing a simple "one-two" combination he repeated endlessly. Malfoy's face bounced again and again as Harry punched him.  
  
Then the stewards fired their wands, and Harry knew no more.

Infirmary at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, two days afterward. 2:00 p.m., standard time.  
  
Harry awoke to the white walls of the infirmary of Hogwarts, a sight he was far too familiar with. It seemed that he ended every semester here... or at the very least spent a great deal of time during those semesters here. Harry turned his head to the left, to look about himself.  
  
" You've gotten into quite a mess, young Harry Potter," a voice spoke from behind his head. Harry turned to look at the speaker.  
  
" Even I must say I was shocked at what you did to Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore said, from his position in a small chair next to Harry's bed. As always, he wore a look of slightly befuddled happiness... but his eyes revealed the wisdom he tried to keep secret from the world. Right now, the eyes also had a half-hidden part in them... what was it? Harry strained with all his mind and soul, but could sense nothing else, like he had when Hermione had lied in the train. That had been a weird sensation, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. What was it? Had he really been sensing her lie? Or had it been just his own delusions? Harry put that question off for another time.  
  
" What did I do to him?" he asked, looking Dumbledore straight in the eye. He honestly did not know. Harry had not thought he was moving fast at all; he just thought that Draco had been slow. He did not realize how fast he'd actually been hitting Draco.  
  
" You would not know, of course," Dumbledore said, in his slightly solemn, old man's voice, " what you called forth, fighting in the train. That would, in fact, have been one of your first lessons this year, in the Weapon Arts class. It's a quite popular training course, really."  
  
" Weapon Arts?" Harry asked, trying to sit up slowly. His head immediately set up a painful ringing, and so he lay back down, where the ringing settled down into a throb and then disappeared.  
  
" You may wish to watch your head," Dumbledore said amiably. " Three train stewards hit you with Stunning Spells at almost the same time. Madame Pomfrey is very good, but the aftereffects are almost impossible to cure without great amounts of bed rest. As I was saying, Weapon Arts is a class we introduce to our higher classmen when they reach your grade. Most Wizards choose wands as their weapon, for the simple fact that it's the easiest weapon to use. And for people like myself," Dumbledore chuckled, tapping the pocket in his robes which contained his own wand, " there are few other things which can properly channel our power. Wands are designed to channel pure magical force, and nothing else. Because one does not have to study actual fighting techniques when using one, they are a simple and expedient weapon to use." Dumbledore had switched to speech mode, and Harry let himself ride with it; his voice's ups and downs made an irresistible music that did not draw the listener down to sleep, but rather to total awareness of his words. Dumbledore's speeches stayed with you. " But! They are not the only weapon to use! There are many, invented by Wizards long before Muggles ever thought of them; swords, axes, hammers, flails..." Dumbledore trailed off, indicating that the list went on and on, then said, " But there are a few distinct Wizards who choose none of these weapons. They fight with their bare hands, using their bodies as weapons to channel their magical force. And you, Harry Potter, unwittingly used that force last night."  
  
Harry wrinkled his brow, confused. " Huh?"  
  
" Muggles call them " Martial Artists"," Dumbledore answered. " There are many different styles of unarmed combat, but most of them can be traced back to a Wizard ancestor. In Asia, it reached it's heights of growth. Muggles eventually copied the techniques, but they lack the magic needed to call up the powers the techniques were designed for." Shaking his head, Dumbledore laughed. " Did you know, for instance, that the Animal Styles of Kung Fu were originally named after the spirits they summoned? The Tiger style, for instance, summoned a ferocious tiger spirit. The Eagle style, on the other hand, called up an eagle spirit to grapple with the opponent. Each style was named after the force it summoned."  
  
" So I'm a martial artist, huh?" Harry chuckled. " Who'd have thought it..."  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. " You are not a martial artist, Harry. Rather, you called up that power when you needed it... but that doesn't mean you are destined to use that power. I rather think you'd make a fine swordsman, myself."  
  
Harry looked at him. " Really? Is that... my destiny?" Harry smiled, a cynical smile that touched only the corners of his mouth. " Or some other such thing?"   
  
Dumbledore looked at Harry oddly for a moment, then shook his head (an extremely slight movement, one Harry was not sure he'd seen), then continued as if Harry had not spoke. " But that is beside the point. The truth is, Harry, you are in a great deal of trouble."  
  
Harry grinned, his cynical worldview finally coming true. " Let me guess. Draco's run to his daddy and complained that big bad Harry Potter kicked his ass. And now he's demanding my expulsion in the Wizengamot."  
  
" No. Although that almost did happen.... sometimes I think you have seen too much, Harry Potter."  
  
" I probably have."  
  
" Regardless, this comes at an opportune time. I was going to send you away, Harry, even before this happened."  
  
" For my own good?"  
  
" For everyone's good. I have a secret to tell you... a great secret, one I myself have only recently discovered. I found it in a secret room in the Headmaster's Tower. Give me one second to make this safe..."  
  
Dumbledore said some words Harry couldn't follow, then snapped his fingers. Harry felt no different, but soon noticed that he couldn't hear anything coming from outside a small area around his bed. Dumbledore had soundproofed them.  
  
" Now," Dumbledore said, pulling his chair up next to Harry's bed. " Listen to me. Long ago, the Four Headmasters came together to make this school. Each named a House after themselves. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin."  
  
" I know all this," Harry said.  
  
" Hold on with me now," Dumbledore said, and continued on. " You know that each had their own view on how the school should be run. Godric preferred bravery in his students. Rowena liked the clever students, the ones always one step ahead of everybody else. Helga preferred those who were willing to work hard; dedication was the main selling point to her. And Salazar... he loved ambition. He loved those who would do anything, no matter how dark or terrible, to gain power. A thing that, properly controlled, is a great asset and no harm to any... but Salazar never really knew when to draw the line. He never knew which students would cross over into the Dark Arts... and even those times when he must have known, he never really cared."  
  
Dumbledore sighed, then shook his head.  
  
" Everyone thinks that Slytherin left the school because of disagreements with the other Headmasters," Dumbledore said. " That's not entirely true. Yes, he and the others had horrible arguments, and once or twice he and Hufflepuff almost came to blows- those two were always at odds with each other- but they always stayed together. Salazar, despite his ambition, knew the value of friendship. So, despite their rocky relationships, the four stayed together. Until, that was," and here Dumbledore paused for dramatic effect, stringing his audience along so as to emphasize his next words, " Ellen DeGray came along."  
  
Harry looked at him. " Ellen DeGray? Who is that?"  
  
" She _was_ a student of Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, emphasizing the past tense of the word, " an incredibly power-hungry young girl. So, naturally, she became a Slytherin. She was one of Salazar's star pupils. He taught her everything. She became like a daughter to him, and they soon became almost a fixture here- the old man walking down the halls, her running after him, blond hair flying in the wind..." Dumbledore paused, and for a second or two Harry saw hurt in his eyes. " Everyone thought she'd become the next Headmaster of Slytherin. Back then, there were four Headmasters, one for each house, instead of the one Headmaster we have today. She certainly seemed perfect for it. But then she did something so horrible, so wrong, that even today her name is not mentioned in any History of Hogwarts. Not even the illegal copies Hermione has stored in her bookbags."  
  
" What did she do?" Harry said, wondering at this tale of long ago, told as if it were but a tale of yesterday.  
  
" There was a Banquet the Headmasters had held, a celebration of Hogwarts' years in existence. Each Headmaster had brought along their favorite student- or in Godric's case, students, seeing as how he never could pick just one. Anyway, as they were eating, Ellen had asked if she could propose a toast. Slytherin, who had been having a grand old time, had thought it a marvelous idea, and the others agreed. As Ellen stood up to make the toast, they'd all raised their wineglasses in the air. None of them knew that Ellen had poisoned them all."  
  
Harry gasped, caught unawares by this sudden declaration. " You mean she tried to kill ALL the Headmasters? Holy shit! Why'd she do that?"  
  
" Because of greed," Dumbledore said calmly. " Ellen had brought the wine in herself, disguising it as an attempt to win favor with those there. She'd actually poisoned the entire bottle with Calim's Leaf- you don't know what that is, but let me assure you it is a horrible way to go. The extract of the leaf causes the lungs to bleed. You choke to death on your own fluids."  
  
" Ugh."  
  
" As those gathered there drank to the school's continued health, they all noticed a sudden rending sensation in their throats. All of them coughed and gagged, dying as the poison flooded their systems. Hufflepuff alone was immune. She saved them all that day, rising mightily to the task, casting Healing spells on her friends as fast as she could. Hufflepuff respected dedication, as I told you, and one part of that dedication was the will and ability to go through long, harsh training to acheive wanted ends. Hufflepuff had trained herself by taking small doses of many poisons, letting them slowly filter through her body, until she had become immune to them herself. Calim's Leaf happened to be one of those she was immune to. The other three Headmasters, due to their innate power, had some small ability to fend off the poison, and it gave Hufflepuff enough time to heal them. She saved her friends, but she was too late to save the students. Five people died that day. One from Hufflepuff, one from Ravenclaw, and three from Gryffindor. It is always your house that bleeds first and bleeds most..."  
  
Dumbledore was silent for a while, pondering his thoughts, and Harry let him think. He wanted to hear more, and Dumbledore would reach it in time.  
  
" Slytherin himself knew almost instantly who it was. Ellen had spoken to him often of her desire to eventually run Hogwarts some day, to make it a perfect school for pure Wizards and Witches. Slytherin had always voiced his support for this idea, and it weighed heavily on his mind that day. He ensorcelled her, and eventually she spitted out the whole plot to them. She hadn't drank any of her wine at all; merely watched as they all drank their deaths in a bottle. Hufflepuff's actions saved all the Headmaster's lives, a debt they never forgot and never quite repaid. In fact, there is an old line from a poem that says something about that... Would you mind if I repeated it now? It is stuck in my head, all of a sudden, and I don't think I can finish the story without saying it."  
  
" Go on," Harry said.  
  
" Three lives rescued from death's jaws,  
  
Three lives owed, hence three laws.  
  
All shall repay, in time of need  
  
Hufflepuff, for her great deed.  
  
From Ravenclaw, a coat of feathers,  
  
From Gryffindor, a set of leathers.  
  
From Slytherin, who owed the most,  
  
A horn, a call, to summon a host.  
  
That whenever she need, or call for friends,  
  
Ever would they answer, and make amends. "  
  
" I do not know what it means," Dumbledore said, " but I assume that it talks about some kind of present that each gave Hufflepuff. Though, I doubt that even as I assume it... There are some riddles that cannot be solved unless one already knows the answer."  
  
" Indeed," Harry responded.  
  
" Anyway, after Ellen tried to kill them, the four gathered together and sentenced her to death. Slytherin himself carried out the execution, tears streaming in his eyes as he cast Avrada Kevrada and took the life from her body. Back in those days, the Forbidden Spells were not Forbidden, and law was usually a matter of personal justice. She was buried in an unmarked plot several miles from the school. I've never been for sure exactly where..."  
  
Dumbledore retreated back into his thoughts, then drew out of them to finish his speech.  
  
" Slytherin left after that, taking his shame with him. Godric was the one who was most angry with him- and for good reason, too- but Rowena and Helga both felt that, heinous as Ellen's deeds were, they were hers, and not Salazar's. But he couldn't take that argument. He hated himself to the end of his days for his part in the murder of those five students. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff both tried to draw him back, to make it as easy as they could for him to be their friend again, and even Gryffindor eventually forgave him, but Slytherin could never forgive himself. And so, he took upon himself a great task, a task of redemption." Dumbledore reached into his pocket and drew out a set of cards. He placed them all on the bedsheets, and his words suddenly seemed to have gained weight and power. " The Four Headmasters had created something new, something incredibly powerful. Incredibly dangerous. And so they decided to hide their creations, where none could find them by accident and use them for dark purposes. Salazar hid them himself, taking the burden of their secret work upon himself so as to atone for his sins. He was greedy, and blind, mayhap, but in the end Salazar had been a loyal friend. That's what hurt him the most, I think; that his own blindness had hurt his friends. Salazar had been the oldest of the four, and had traveled more than the others. He found the perfect hiding spots for all the things they'd made."  
  
" What things?" Harry asked, looking at the cards on the bed. Face-down, all had a strange design that integrated all the symbols and colors of the four houses in a strangely beautiful, flowing pattern. On each, the green snake of Slytherin was shown more prominently than the others.  
  
" Spirits," Dumbledore whispered. " Spirits of elements. But not the ordinary elements, Harry, the elements of Fire and Earth and Air and Water... but the elements that make up our very souls. Spirits of elements without power themselves, but together with a Wizard...! Power beyond power. Strength beyond strength. Enough force to rule the world- or break it. Spirits, Harry."  
  
And so saying, Dumbledore reached down and flipped over one card. On it was a picture of an endless blue sky, flowing over an eternal plain of grass.  
  
" Sky. The Dreaming."  
  
He flipped over the second card. On it, a small shield, gleaming in the darkness, stood and fought against the evil all around it.  
  
" Shield. The Steadfast."  
  
The third card was flipped by Dumbledore's aged hand. On it, a star, shining in the darkness, light against night, fought against the endless cold of space no matter what the cost.  
  
" Star. The Brave."  
  
The fourth. On it, two jester's masks, one laughing and one crying, looked out on an endless black waste as small ribbons of purple silk floated between them.  
  
" Mask. The Changeling."  
  
The fifth. On it, two great fangs opened in a black maw on a blacker field. Their white gleam was the only thing visible of the creature who bared them.  
  
" Fang. The Raging."  
  
The sixth. On it, a great crown, set on no brow, showed itself off to the world, gems glittering.  
  
" Crown. The Proud."  
  
The seventh. On it, a great stone artifice soared into the sky, light burning upon it. A single eagle soared through the night sky towards it, mouth open in a silent call.  
  
" Hawk. The Seeking."  
  
The eighth. On it, a night sky over a vast city was portrayed, with a single figure staring up into it. Rain poured down in a never-ending sheet upon the figure.  
  
" Rain. The Lost."  
  
The ninth and final card. On it, torn and rent rags lay on a cobblestoned street, torn and cut almost to pieces, holding together only by virtue of a few strong threads.  
  
" Rags. The Wounded."  
  
Harry stared at the cards for a minute, then looked up into Dumbledore's eyes.  
  
" What are these?" he asked, feeling some great mystery and aura settle upon him. " What.... is this?"  
  
" It is explained in here," Dumbledore said. " By the man who hid them." He pulled a book out of a pocket in his robes and handed it to Harry. It was simple and unadorned, bound in red leather, with a picture of a snake running up the spine. On the front, it said, simply, " Salazar Slytherin", in an old man's spidery cursive handwriting.  
  
Harry opened it and began to read.   
  
" Even A Serpent Can Bleed",  
  
The Notes of Salazar Slytherin  
  
Written While Hiding the Spirits  
  
' I write these words under great duress. I am merely a man, and there are many things that we men cannot do. One of these things is reverse the past. I wish I could but...! There are just some things we cannot do.'  
  
' But that is neither here nor there. I have not taken the task of hiding the Spirits upon myself to change the past, merely to atone for it. Likewise, I did not write this book to dwell on the past. Doing so will not help me at all; darkness is my only reward down that path.'  
  
' I am recording this so that I may, in some small way, describe what I know of the Spirits, their hiding places, and their powers. It is small knowledge, little knowledge, and I doubt it will be of much help to future generations; but, in the end, it is all I can do.'  
  
' I hope only that they can forgive me.'  
  
' God help us all in times like these.'  
  
' And may no one ever need these Spirits, nor call them forth out of greed.... for the power they wield is more than even I myself will touch.'  
  
' Let us begin.'  
  
- R & R please! And rememeber: this has no relation to Harry's Madness in ANY WAY! It's totally unrelated! And HM will continue to be updated, so don't worry, my friends! See you later! 


	2. Winds of Change

NOTE TO ALL: THE DISCLAIMER AND MARKS INDICATED IN THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS STORY ARE CONSIDERED BINDING FOR ALL PARTS OF THIS STORY.  
  
(Scratches head embarassedly) Well... didn't expect the great response I got on this story. I was real iffy about it, but now you've cemented me into doing it. Thanks guys.  
  
Reviews:  
  
j: (Reads review, breaks out laughing) Goku Potter?!? Holy shit man! (keeps laughing) All right, all right, I will give you this one. I never realized how much it DID resemble DBZ until I read your review. I promise, however, that unlike DBZ, every other line will not be "HUARRRGGGH!" or some variation thereof.  
  
(Falls on floor and almost chokes to death on laughter) Oh man. Goku Potter. That is a new one....  
  
Somebody mentioned that it was like Power Rangers. I assure you that this is not the Power Rangers, my friend. (Snorts laughter)  
  
Maybe I shouldn't do this... you guys are weird... :). (incredulous voice in background: Power Rangers and DBZ? What the?)  
  
Oh well. Kudos to all who reviewed! And now...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Winds of Change  
  
Outside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Second day of classes.  
  
Seamus Finnegan looked up into the sky, and as he did so he saw nothing but white clouds and a bright sun. He lowered his gaze as he and a group of other Gryffindors walked through the grounds, returning from classes with Hagrid outside. Today had been particularly entertaining; they'd gotten to deal with rare tentacled creatures called Homner's Land-Walking Squids (or, more commonly, Homners) that could walk on land and were regarded as exceptionally intelligent. Seamus liked animals; they respected him, and he liked that. Of the group of Gryffindors he was with, Seamus had gotten the most compliments from Hagrid, who'd told him that he was the best " Homner tamer ah've ever seen! The bloody thing likes ye!"  
  
And so it had; the giant squid-thing had rubbed itself against him like a dog, and he'd almost gotten to the point where it would allow itself to be ridden. Homner's were ferociously loyal creatures, almost more so than dogs, and they were commonly ridden in the plains of Germany, their native land. Interestingly enough, few people knew of their existence. Muggles, of course, didn't know (German students often practiced their Memory Charms from Homner-back, practicing so they could hit Muggles while on the run) but even most Wizards outside of Germany did not know Homners existed. Seamus thought they were kind of fun, and better yet, if he could master Homner riding, it would be a skill his parents knew nothing about. Although Seamus did not know why he felt this way, he did know that he loved to have a life outside his parents. To have skills and powers they'd never dreamed of. To be better than them, in all the ways of his life.  
  
As Seamus kept walking to the grounds of Hogwarts, he was completely unaware that Dumbledore was watching him, from high up in his tower.  
  
" I believe you will do just fine," Dumbledore muttered to himself, as he turned around and made a checkmark on a small book behind him. " Yes, I believe you will do perfectly."  
  
The small book was a listing of all of Hogwart's students. The checkmark was right beside a small box that said " Finnegan, Seamus."  
  
" One down, seven to go," Dumbledore said, as he dipped his pen in ink.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Gryffindor Tower, Girls' Dormitory, same time.  
  
Hermione looked around, making sure no one was glancing at her. No one was; the room was empty. All Gryffindors were supposed to be finishing classes with Hagrid, but Dumbledore had told her and Ron to stay behind today, to await news on Harry. Hermione had been more than happy to oblige; she had some illegal reading material to cover, and the nosy snoops of the Girls' Dormitory would be more than happy to have some rope to hang Hermione on. She was almost completely unsoiled, and far better than any of them at magic- but that did not mean her skin was stone or that her ears were deaf. She heard the taunts of "Mudblood" whispered beneath their breath when she passed; she heard the things they whispered when they saw her at her studies. Bookworm, Muggle child, Falseborn (an extremely ancient term that had fallen out of favor centuries ago, but was enjoying a modern-day revival as a term for a Muggle-born witch), the million other things they said to hurt her.  
  
But she always responded in her head with "So what." She was a witch, and she possessed greater power than any of them had ever dreamed of; and this book was going to help her gain even more power, power that was greater and purer than any power. The power of knowledge.  
  
Hermione opened the book. It was an illegal handbook that detailed the true history of the Giant Wars, covering not just the Giant's atrocities but Wizard atrocities as well, that told the full truth and not just the winner's side. Because of this, the authorities hated it, for they were the ones who had wanted to change history; but truth could not be stopped, even if it had to hide in darkness to protect itself. There were many Wizards who knew the truth, who heard it from grandfathers or great-grandfathers, who wrote it down and kept it all. And Hermione was one of the few who sought it out, who looked for this truth, and who found it every now and then, who found pieces of that great and golden thing, truth.  
  
Hermione began reading, and her face was full of the simple, happy joy of a child discovering a new toy. Reading had been and always would be Hermione's greatest pleasure; it had been her first escape, from the cold dull world she lived in, from the kids who tormented her over her teeth and her glasses and just the general way she looked; it had been her first love. In it's pages she had discovered magic, real magic, and though she was now a witch, she knew that no spellcraft would ever match the enchantment of a single book. No enchantment could.  
  
And it had been reading, after all, that had led her to her own self-declared purpose in life: to find truth. To find truth no matter where it lay, in the deepest abyss of the ocean, in the far-away land of the stars, in the black hearts of men or in the song of angels. She did not care where it was; that single shining golden thing was her object and her goal. Everything fell second to that, even her friends. Even the man she thought she loved was second to that- Harry Potter was a great man, but he would never hold a candle to truth. Truth was the beginning and end for her.  
  
Hermione continued to read, content that even though she had paid a one-eyed warlock of ill-repute for this book, that even though she had to step into darkness to find it, she had found truth.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In his tower Dumbledore made another mark, this time next to "Granger, Hermione."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Infirmary of Hogwarts, same time.  
  
Draco moaned and opened his eyes, looking up at the walls of the infirmary. As he looked around and tried to figure out why he was here, his memory came back to him with a crash. With another moan, he lay his head back on the covers.  
  
Harry Potter. Harry Potter had bested him. That was why he was here.  
  
Draco looked to his right and to his left, trying to find Potter. Where was he? The bastard. He would get up right now and go stab him through the throat with the sharpest object he could find-  
  
As Draco tried to get up, he felt pain stab through his upper body and lay back down. With no one around to hear him complain, he bit back a groan. Though he whined and complained a great deal, Draco was actually far tougher than most people supposed; it was just that when you whined or complained, you found it easier to get people to do what you wanted them to. A simple trick, but one that almost never failed. Draco was an expert at manipulating people, and was not above the occasional "weak little me" act if that was what the situation required.  
  
As Draco mentally replayed what had happened on the train, he felt a moment of strong self-hate when he recalled his weakness during the fight. A strong voice, a sharp voice, cut through his self-hate like a razor-thin whip and spoke in his mind. It was, as always, the voice of his father, the voice that spoke to him whenever he failed or did not do as he should.  
  
[ You failed me, Draco,] his father said, his tones icy and bitter and emotionally disgusted, as they always were when speaking of his son. [ I forgave the failure aboard the train last semester because you were jumped, but this-! You had the perfect chance! Harry Potter attacked you! Why did you not slay him! Why, son! Why? Are you too weak, perhaps? Too weak to best Potter? What worth do you have to me now? What worth could you possibly hold for me? None, Draco, that's what! None!]  
  
Draco moaned again, and his face was at once both childish and old, eager to please and desperately, deeply, hurt.  
  
" I'm sorry, Father..." Draco cried, as he slowly slipped from consciousness and fell back into a healing doze.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dumbledore made another checkmark besides "Malfoy, Draco."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Snape's Potions Class, same time.  
  
Cho Chang looked up from her spellbook, her eyes still red and puffy where she had been crying. It had been almost two years since Cedric's death, yet still she cried for him at night. Still she cried for the man she had loved.  
  
As Snape began droning about the effects of a Chimerageist potion (which would supposedly summon a fierce Chimera when thrown to the ground) and how to counter it, Cho thought about her lost love. Her time with Cedric had been short but sweet, and somehow, his loss had been more devastating to her than she could bear. She still cried in the night, sometimes, when she thought about him....  
  
Why had it hurt so bad? Why had Cedric's loss cut her to the bone like that? She'd only known him for a few semesters, and only in the last of those had she been his girlfriend. Only in the last of those had they told each other so much....  
  
As Cho sat there and thought about Cedric, as tears began to form in her eyes yet again for the man she had lost, Snape looked at her from the corner of his eye (the focus of his eyes was a young, dumb pupil who'd screwed up the Chimerageist potion) and sighed. Poor girl. Contrary to popular belief, Snape was not a complete monster (though he had been once, hadn't he? A total monster, a being beyond belief) and did have some sympathy in his heart for those who had suffered. In fact, that sympathy had been the one thing that had pulled him out of darkness....  
  
Mentally shaking his head, he continued railing at the stupid Ravenclaw (Is that an oxymoron? one part of his brain wondered even as he thought this) and left Cho be. Those who suffered were best left to their own devices, until the mechanics of grief had swept over them and through them, washing out the pain.  
  
Cho, unaware of Snape's kindness, cried on.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dumbledore nodded his head in his Tower. He made another checkmark in his book. This one was next to "Chang, Cho."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Gryffindor Tower, Male Dormitory. Same time.  
  
Ron sat on the edge of the bed, playing Wizard chess without much real zeal for the game. Currently one of his Knights was cursing and taunting a Bishop.  
  
" Come and get me, ye damn pansy!" the knight laughed, bending over and mooning the bishop.  
  
" I say!" the bishop declared, looking quite shocked at the knight's behavior and fluttering his left hand to his face. " What awful behavior!"  
  
" That's right laddie," the knight said, chuckling. " Kiss my great big fat ass! I'm coming for ye!"  
  
" Queen, get rid of him," Ron said, moving his white Queen to the attack. The Queen, one hand over her smile, walked over to the offending knight and conked him over the head. The knight swooned, fell over, and was soon kicked off the board by the Queen. The Bishop stood there and looked self-righteous up until a Pawn walked up and stabbed him with it's short spear. The Bishop went down and rolled off the field.  
  
Soon it was down to a single Black King valiantly running his ass off against a Knight, a Queen, the White King, and three Pawns (each of whom suffered from short attention spans and wandered off at inopportune moments, allowing the King to escape time and time again). Ron ordered his soldiers about with only half his mind, while the rest of it wandered and wondered. Where was Harry? What had Dumbledore meant when he said to "stay in the rooms until the calling begins?" What was he talking about?  
  
As a White Queen bitched her head off at a White Knight who took it all stoicly, and as a Black King ran and ran from a Pawn who had suddenly turned insane, Ron pondered over the fate of his friend... and possibly the fate of the future. As the maniacal Pawn caught the King in a corner, Ron sighed and shook his head. He could see none of it.  
  
None of it at all.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In his tower, Dumbledore made another mark. This was next to "Weasley, Ron."  
  
" Interesting," he muttered to himself, as he dipped his quill in the pot for more ink. " Very interesting indeed."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Professor Trelawney's Divination Class, same time.  
  
Parvati Patil focused her mind, feeling some of the free fall that always accompanied attempts to pierce the border ethereal and cross into the realm of the future. This new magic the class was working on was based on Yoga-kina (which Muggles used to, in a bastardized form they called Yoga, which had far more body movements and almost no mind concentration) and had the students sitting in a circle, lotus fashion, eyes closed and hands laid on their knees with thumb and forefinger touching. Trelawney's soft, gentle voice (Harry and the others might find it annoying and hokey, but Parvati found it enchanting) whispered to them to slowly feel better than this world, to go beyond it, to be... more...  
  
As the students focused, Parvati felt the world slip away.... felt all things pass her by....  
  
{horns on the far wind}  
  
Parvati almost snapped her eyes open. What was this?  
  
{a great army}  
  
It was like  
  
{a Black General above it all}  
  
hearing something on a radio that was playing tunes you couldn't recognize  
  
{knights on spiders laughing and laughing}  
  
but knew all the same, like hearing those songs fritz out in the static and  
  
{an army of white, of wolves and white}  
  
losing them and hearing them all the same.  
  
{white soldiers holding swords and standing strong}  
  
And then something happened and it became more than a radio; it was a TV.  
  
{ He stands before them, mounted on his foul acromantula, it's fangs split wide in a devil's grin, holding his black sword above him, waving it and screaming to death, to war, to victory, and they scream back at him, and as his horned helmet turns, she catches sight of him- of the real him- of a glimpse of flesh and eyes in the visor of his helm, and the two eyes caught in the chain about his neck, and she knows him, and she fears him, the same person she knows and yet radically different.  
  
As he stands on a field of burned black, on a wasteland of brown, he turns and shouts at them, shouts at them to charge, and as they charge, she sees faces, so many faces that she knows and yet doesn't, and among these faces she might or might not know there are many horrid things; a Necromancer who is barely a slip of a girl, wings spread wide as a skull dangles about her neck; a laughing madwoman, astride an insane giant of screaming faces and hungry maws, whip of dragon's hide held firm in her hand; a huge, bulking man, a jewel ingrown on his face and his eyes hungry as a crocodile's.  
  
And there is one other, one who scares her the most, because she knows him best, they ALL know him best, he is the Jester, he is the One who Laughs, he is the nightmare, he is the monster, he is Harry Potter.  
  
And as she tumbles and falls, as the masks of a joker surround her and laugh and cry, as the world turns black and she crumbles, she screams.  
  
She screams.}  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A scream cut the air of Hogwarts, disrupting Dumbledore from his thoughts, and he looked down at the book, pen raised but hesitant, as he carried on some internal debate. Finally nodding his head, he made a mark next to "Patil, Parvati" in the book.  
  
" They may well need you, before this is through," Dumbledore muttered to himself, as he turned the page and began his search anew.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Grounds of Hogwarts, same time.  
  
The scream broke through the thin film of concentration Ernie Macmillan had built up around himself, and as it pierced the air, his heart stopped. Ernie was a somewhat pompous fellow, but as a general rule he was quite stout-hearted; the Sorting Hat had almost placed him in Gryffindor, before stating that though he was brave, he had the mind of a Hufflepuff (this last it had shouted for all to hear). Despite this bravery, however, Ernie found himself deeply, deeply afraid. That scream was terrifying; it sounded like someone had stood before the doorway of Hell and opened it, and now stood there, screaming as the sights within tore the sanity from their mind. He'd thought the sound had made his heart stop, but found he'd been wrong on that account; his heart was simply beating so fast that he was unable to distinguish individual beats. Ernie panted as fear tore through him, and when the scream at last ended, he found he was shaking. He wasn't an exception, though; all the other Hufflepuffs around him were shaking as well, minds almost unhinged by that sonic blast from afar. As chill autumn winds blew through the grounds, Ernie and his House simply stood there, waiting.  
  
Waiting for what they did not know. They just... waited.  
  
After a short time they turned around and walked quickly to Hagrid's, saying nothing to each other. But Ernie kept standing there a little longer than the others, staring up at Hogwarts.  
  
Because he still felt that something was happening.  
  
Something he would be part of.  
  
His heart began to beat faster again, keeping time to a song running in his veins, a song that spoke in a thousand voices, a song of blood.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dumbledore nodded and made another checkmark, this time next to "Macmillan, Ernie."  
  
" As you choose, so shall it be," he said to no one in particular. He dipped his pen in the inkpot, preparing it to make another mark.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Halls of Hogwarts, same time.  
  
Neville Longbottom looked above him, because that was where the sound had come from- and also, because that was where the future seemed to be for him. It was strange, it was stupid, it was foolish- but it was also true. He couldn't deny the voice in his head that said that something had just happened, and that that something heralded a brand new world he had just entered, one in which he might cast off his image as a klutz and emerge as a great new something. Maybe he was just dreaming... but it felt right.  
  
As Neville looked upwards, someone jostled him, muttering something about "damned fool" as they did so- and suddenly feeling mad, feeling wronged, Neville stuck his foot out and tripped him. The other student sprawled on the floor, robes forming a black puddle around him.  
  
" What are you doing?" the student, who Neville dimly recognized as Terry Boot, shouted.  
  
" What did you call me?" Neville shouted, feeling that if he really had entered a brave new world, he might as well stand.  
  
" Whatever I want to, you idiot! The hell's wrong with you?" Terry got up, dusting himself off, and shot his hand out to grab Neville. " Don't you ever trip me again, you little freak! Or I swear I'll..."  
  
" That's enough, Mr. Boot," Filch said, as he suddenly appeared out of a hallway somewhere. " I believe you can let go of Mr. Longbottom now. And come to detention, of course." Filch smiled, his teeth seeming to gleam wickedly.  
  
" This little brat tripped me! He bloody tripped me!" Terry protested, though he was letting go of Neville as he did so. " He's the one who should be in trouble, not me!"  
  
" I know that," Filch said, smiling. " Mrs. Norris saw it all." The cat appeared as if the name were a cue, rubbing against Filch's legs. " You may say he tripped you, but she says different. She says that while shoving him, you accidentally tripped on his feet by your own actions. And now you're attacking him to make up for your mistake." Filch grinned again. " Now get along to class. I'll expect you at detention later- right now I've other business to attend to. Scat."  
  
Terry left, snarling at Neville as he went, his face promising that the two had unfinished business that would be concluded later on.  
  
After he left, Filch turned to Neville and said, " It's hard, isn't it?"  
  
Neville looked at him, his mind an utter blank, and said, " What?"  
  
" Being a Squib." Filch looked both embarassed, saddened, and angry, all at the same time, as he said this. " It's hard."  
  
Neville's anger flashed out. " I'm not a Squib!" he protested violently, glancing around even as he did so, trying to see who was watching this conversation, who would be whispering about it later and laughing at poor dumb Neville. His fears were unfounded; this corner of Hogwarts currently belonged just to Neville and Mr. Filch.  
  
" Yell all you like," Filch said, shaking his head as sadness became the dominant emotion on his face, " but it won't change a thing. A Squib's a Squib. It's what we are. It's all we'll ever be."  
  
" I'M NOT A SQUIB!" Neville screamed, before turning and running as fast as he could, as far as he could, fleeing from hateful old Filch, from the accusations of being a Squib, from Fate itself.  
  
Filch shook his head slowly and turned away, heading down a long hallway which led to a door where two troublemakers were preparing to pour Dragon Bile on the lock, fusing it and making the door completely inoperable. Filch yelled at them, and at his feet Mrs. Norris rubbed against him, trying to console him as best she could.  
  
Down the hall, Neville ran, tears streaking his face.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dumbledore made a final mark in his tower, nodding his head as he did so. Putting the pen back in it's pot, he tapped this final entry, entitled " Longbottom, Neville."  
  
" I hope you can do it," he muttered. " For all our sakes."  
  
And he turned and opened the window, letting a fresh breeze blow through the room. Anyone looking at him in that moment would have seen a terribly, terribly old man. A man who, himself, felt like crying but would not cry- too many long years had passed for him to allow himself to cry in any but the worst situations.  
  
But it was a close thing.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Even a Serpent Can Bleed"  
  
Notes, Section 2  
  
' Before I write where I have hidden these things, let me tell you what they are. We four set out to remake the very World of Wizards, and in doing so created Hogwarts. When we created Hogwarts, we thought we had made a mark- a very definitive mark- on this world. But we wondered if we had done enough. We wondered, in our arrogance (and I cannot write youthful arrogance, because it was I and Helga- the two oldest members- who were actually most driven on the point), if we had done enough to be remembered forever. If we had done enough to be worth remembering, years from now.'  
  
' So we set out to rewrite the most basic laws of Wizarding. We looked at every magic there was, and in each we found a weakness we could not overcome. We looked at the Elements and thought, " We need one stronger." We looked at Necromancy and said, " We need one less evil." We looked at Divination, and said, " We need one more sure." We looked at each branch of magic, and found it wanting. So we created our own.'  
  
' The Magic of Nine Souls. The Magic of the Spirits.'  
  
' And in doing so, we damned ourselves.'  
  
- R & R please! 


	3. The Gathering

Hey everybody. I know it's been forever, but I'm trying to finish my BR fanfic at the moment, and I haven't been able to write on anything else for quite some time now. I'm trying- desperately- to make room for all my stories, but it's a pain in the ass what with school starting back. They only gave us a crummy two month break... bloody bastards! (grumbles, shakes fist)  
  
I watched the third HP movie over the weekend, and I must say, it was GREAT. Almost as good as Spider-man 2 (one of my favorite movies of all time now, might I add.) By the by- Ernie's axe is the same one as in the movie.  
  
For those who will read this and wonder why the characters are not having a really "emotional" time with the decision to leave the school, I say this: it will all be explained. I've got a neat idea, and I don't know how it will work, but if it does work, you will all be congratulating me later.  
  
I won't waste time here, save to say thank you to all you reviewers. You guys rock! People like you make my days better.  
  
And, without further ado, it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 3  
  
The Gathering  
  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 11:55 p.m., fourth day of classes.  
  
The students of Hogwarts were all sitting down in their various classes, listening to their teachers and copying into their notebooks, hoping that the hard stuff would not be on the next test (as it inevitably was) and hoping that the easy stuff would be (as it inevitably was not). All the students were busy in their classes... all except nine.  
  
These nine were sitting in their various dorimitories (or, depending on the subject, in hospital beds) waiting. They'd been told by the Heads of their houses to sit and wait until noon, when they would be given further instructions. The nine souls waited, wondering uneasily whether they had done something wrong, whether they were going to be kicked out of school for some hereto unknown infraction, or whether they would be told some great secret. Some of them even thought they might be asked to become Head Boys or Head Girls.  
  
They were all wrong. For some, this was good. For others, this was bad. But for the world...  
  
Was it best of all? Was it good, that these nine souls be sent out into the world? Was it for the betterment of all mankind? Was it a good thing, that these nine cast away their innocence and forge ahead into a world where others would dare not tread, that these nine be forced to fight where others would run?  
  
Or should we not judge this action? Should we even attempt to declare this action good or evil, should we even try to fit this decision into a category? For, though the decision was bad for some, it was good for some as well, and maybe that makes this decision gray, gray in a way that cannot be pushed to black or white. Few things are gray in this world, but maybe this decision is. For everyone must lose their innocence (and that is a overvalued commodity in this world anyway) and though forced to fight, they were not forced to fight with all their heart and soul. And maybe, in the end, they weren't forced at all. Maybe, though others tried to make the decision for them, they chose of their own free will.  
  
Maybe.... maybe they decided to live.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Godric's Hope", Secret Armory beneath Hogwarts Castle, 12:00 p.m., same day.  
  
Dumbledore sat behind a small wooden desk, watching as they filed in. The nine students he had called, the nine he was sending out into the world to find weapons to turn the tide. In turn, each student sat down in one of the chairs that had been set up in a rough semi-circle in front of Dumbledore's desk. Malfoy, whose mouth still ached from Harry's assault, put a hand to it as he sat down in the chair that was farthest left. His air was of one who cannot believe he is enduring such incredible pain. Dumbledore hid a small smile behind his beard. Ah, the ever ephemeral pretty boy in blond. Dumbledore was a kind man, but seeing Malfoy's effeminate weakness still cheered him up. Mostly recovered from the wounds he himself had received, Harry chose a seat next to Ron and Hermione, who but for the stares of the four House Heads would have immediately asked him what had happened while they were gone. As it was, they sat fidgeting in their seats, seeming almost to jitter with the force of the questions inside them. Dumbledore's smile widened slightly, though not much. They were in the middle of the circle, three empty chairs separating them from Malfoy. To their right, Seamus Finnegan sat down, his eyes glowering with that slight smolder of hate that he always held when viewing those he thought were in authority. Next to him, trying to move as gracefully as he could, Neville Longbottom sat down with a thunk and a clud, but instead of the embarassed blush that had become so familiar to the Gryffindors over the years, a strange, helpless rage seemed to steal over his face for a second. It soon disappeared and was replaced by what looked like an attempt by Neville to be serious and grave. Instead of being serious, it looked like the mugshot glare criminals give to the camera when being photographed by the police.  
  
Next to Malfoy, Ernie Macmillan sat down, slowly and with great ease, the exact opposite of Neville; a fat man with an air of grace and ease and almost absurd agility. He folded his hands in his lap and calmly waited with the air of a man who expects nothing but good results. Dumbledore smiled again at Ernie's pompous attitude, smiling more when he thought of how oddly it contrasted with his generally kind and benevolent nature. Dumbledore thought he looked oddly like the Pope listening to his cardinals, and this formed such an oddly incongruous picture- Ernie in a miter before the Vatican Council- that he almost did smile big enough to break through his beard. He caught himself in time and forced his smile down. He always did this, right before making a decision that might send innocent souls out to die. He always became almost madly cheerful, and it took all his willpower to push it down and push it away. He managed to resume his calm, grave expression as Parvati Patil sat down next to Ernie. She was still shaking from the force of her vision two days ago. Trelawney had pronounced it both a miracle and a curse, a sign of the most ominous portent and a sign of the greatest prosperity. " Thou hast the gift of the Sight!" she had declared to Parvati, following half-jumbled attempts to calm her. " This is a great and terrible day!" Though Parvati had explained her vision, Trelawney had said that it was telling her to beware the darkness that lurked in men's souls and that the future may be a future of war. Parvati had ever since incorrectly assumed that the Black General she had seen had been one of Voldemort's slaves, and had almost gotten to the point where she had decided that the Jester had been Voldemort himself by the time she had attended the Gathering. If she'd merely listened to her heart and not her head, she may have avoided a lot of pain and danger later. But it is not for us to judge.  
  
The last member of the group walked in, eyes looking slightly puff but otherwise okay. Cho Chang chose the seat farthest on the right, and as she sat down she shot Harry a look filled with such mingled pain and hope that it made him physically flinch- or would have, had he been looking. Harry had been looking at Hermione with something close to amusement as she shivered in the seat and missed Cho's visual dart. Taking the blow for him, Dumbledore flinched instead. Ouch. That look had said in it all that needed to be said about Cho Chang- about her desperate need to have someone to rely on, and on the built-up image of Harry Potter in her mind.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head and motioned for the Heads to leave. They walked out, and as the door closed and locked on this secret armory Godric had built, Dumbledore turned to them and began the most important speech in his long, long life.  
  
" Ladies and Gentlemen," he began, " my first act is to release all of you from the constraints of Hogwarts students and free you. You are now no longer under my command, nor under the command of the school. You are free men and free women, and I shall treat you as such."  
  
Seamus, who had been rather surlish and angry up until this point, seemed rather surprised and rose up higher in his seat. Something Dumbledore had just said had impressed him greatly, and he listened intently to everything else the old man said. It was the last time he listened to anybody for a long time.  
  
" Have we done something bad?" Hermione asked, mind immediately going for the hidden (illegal) books in her bag.  
  
" No," Dumbledore chuckled, " in fact, you have done something very good. You have been chosen. This is my Gathering," Dumbledore said, " a Gathering of souls. I chose all of you..." Here he stopped, as if rethinking what he had just said, then continued on anyway. " I chose all of you because of your unique talents... your unique skills... I chose all of you because you nine fit. You nine fit what I required to a T. And so, without further ado, let me explain what this is all about." Dumbledore looked at them and, before saying anything else, asked a question to which he already knew the answer. " Before I do, however, let me ask you this. Is any one of you afraid of death?"  
  
All of them, with the exception of Harry, looked about at each other, unsure how to respond. Harry merely smiled and said, " Please. I'm rather used to it by now."  
  
Cho's eyes trembled with tears, but she said nothing. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
" Ah, I figured as much, Harry. You have seen far more than your classmates, and with the possible exception of myself, are the most experienced person in the room. I did not think death held any terror for you."  
  
Standing up slowly, Dumbledore began pacing the room. As he spoke, each person in the room began nodding their heads, agreeing with various parts of his speech and the speech as a whole. It was a damn good speech, and it completely decided the answer of all those here before he ever asked the real question on his mind. Dumbledore began what would in later years be remembered as the Speech of the Gathering.  
  
" Everyone of you, with the exception of young Mr. Potter, are afraid of death. That is alright. Fear is alright, so long as you do not let it rule you. Fear is there to warn you, to serve as a beacon to guide you to safety, as a sharpener upon which to hone one's wits when in danger. But too much fear dulls the knife, ruins our vision, makes us deaf to true warning and causes us to act with all care thrown away. Yes, fear is a double-edged sword, and all of you may very well have to contend with its nature before this is through."  
  
" You know that the Second War has begun, I am sure. None of you are stupid, and many of you are particularly intelligent students. The Second War has begun, and the Ministry has claimed again and again that Voldemort has made no outward moves." Dumbledore heaved a sigh, then straightened up and turned to face them. " I am about to tell you a secret that would get me locked in Azkaban if it was known that I had revealed it. The secret is this: Voldemort has moved. And he is winning. Ministry forces are not trained to fight. There have been no wars in the past few centuries among Wizards. The only forces that have any real skill in combat, the Beastkeepers, are regarded as freaks by the Ministry and general public- although a man named Walter Andrews leads them now, and I can say fully, with all the weight of my years and experience behind it, that if any man in history ever possessed the power to make the Beastkeepers accepted in public, it is Walter Andrews. But that is beside the point. The truth is, the Ministry is losing- and losing badly. The Giants are marching. Half the dementors have fled Azkaban and joined Voldemort... the other half stays only because of warding spells that some far-sighted soul thought to cast on them. They are stuck on Azkaban now, and the Ministry merely drops off prisoners onto the island, never touching the ground themselves." Dumbledore smiled a bittersweet smile. " That's because the Dementors kiss every single person who gets there now. Luna Lovegood's father was right, in his last editorial before the government shut him down: "Things are breaking down. Things are falling apart." The Ministry is getting harsher in all aspects, but they are still failing. And so I am forced to act." Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and looked each of them in the eye. In each he saw shock, worry, and not a little fear.  
  
[ Good,] he thought, [they are afraid. Not nearly scared enough, no... but maybe just scared enough to act. God grant that they are.]  
  
" I have stayed out of the War by the express written order of the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge," Dumbledore said, smirking. " The man despises me. I don't know why... However, I have chosen to ignore him and make my move. I cannot leave Hogwarts, nor can I afford to lose my position as Headmaster. As important as my generation is, your generation is doubly important, for you are the ones who will fight this war. The Ministry is already recruiting, and many of their recruits were just starting their final year at Hogwarts at this very time last year. So I am raising the next generation of soldier. There is so much to teach them..."  
  
Dumbledore's eyes grew misty and hazy, and Harry thought he saw tears. Hermione saw more than that, though; she saw the deep, incredible sadness that lurked inside Dumbledore. It was the first time she questioned who he was. It was not the last.  
  
" I cannot afford to fail in my duties here. And yet neither can I fail in my duties to the world at large. In short, I am at a dilemma. I cannot leave but I must; I cannot do anything without losing everything, yet will lose everything if I do nothing. I must play by the rules but at the same time I must break them. What can I do? What is left to do?"  
  
Dumbledore sighed and turned to Harry Potter. " Harry, you yourself know that there is a time to follow rules and a time to break them. And you also know that there are times when you can break the rules and pretend to follow them just the same."  
  
Dumbledore smiled. " So it is that I have come to this. I have discovered ancient writings in a secret compartment of the Headmaster's Tower. I have discovered that the four Founders of this school created a new type of magic, with the sole purpose of becoming legendary wizards and witches themselves. But this magic was so dangerous that none of them would use it themselves. Harry already knows the story, and he can fill you in along the way. Suffice it to say they were hidden, and that I believe now is the time to find them."  
  
Dumbledore heaved one last sigh. It was torn from the very life of his body, and the sigh carried in it all he had to say. It was a sad sigh that swept through all of them, even Malfoy (who had stopped caressing his cheek the instant he realized no one was looking at him) and made them listen to him. More importantly, it gave him their sympathies. The sympathetic were always easier to manipulate.  
  
" But I cannot. And so I have chosen you nine to find them for me. I do not ask that you bring them back, for you are free men and women now, adults, if you will. I ask that you fight with them. Master their powers, and use them to drive Voldemort back to the stinking pit he came from. That is what I ask, and that is what I charge."  
  
Dumbledore stared all of them in the eye and said, " As free men and women, whose choice is their own, I ask you this: Can you do it? Will you do it? For the road will be hard, and even with the Spirits, fighting Voldemort may very well be too much for you to handle. Which of you can do it? Which of you will?"  
  
Each former student went through their own internal struggle as their mind whirled with all they'd just learned. Each student felt fear; felt rage; felt surprise; felt happiness; felt hope; felt dismay; felt sadness; felt release. Each student wrestled with themselves, but partially because they still felt as if Dumbledore was their leader, because they still thought of him as older and wiser, they all said, " Yes."  
  
" Then let us begin."  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Even A Serpent", notes, section three.  
  
'The Magic of Nine Souls required a great deal of preparation before we ever attempted to create it, much less understand it. We looked and looked through human literature and through human history, looking and looking.... we hunted for the most basic instincts of man. We took every single emotion, studied it, surveyed it, and decided whether it was basic by itself or whether it was part of some greater, even more basic emotion.'  
  
'Love we decided was Brave- and that became a category by itself. Bravery, the act of doing something higher than oneself, of giving one's life or casting away fear.... The Brave became one of the souls. Likewise, human happiness was caught up in the Dreaming... because it is in our dreams that we are happiest, and in truth happiness is but a dream that has become real in our minds and in our world. Likewise, writers and artists and creators of all kinds fit into the category of Dreaming. Those who were loyal and honorable, however, we decided were different, in some way; they were brave in the common sense, true, but not Brave in our sense of the word. Being loyal and honorable, though it often requires self-sacrifice, does not automatically require self-sacrifice, and those things are generally just in a person, in his personality, rather than outside him, in his acts. So we called them the Steadfast, and the third category was born.'  
  
'Hatred we argued over for many a day until we realized that hatred fell before something else- not fear, but rage. That rage was a great force from which most of the uglier emotions came from, that it was rage that fueled most of the darkness in this world. So the Raging became a category. We thought about sadness, and thought how most sadness and pain and hurt can all be drawn back to one thing- wounds. And so the Wounded became a subject of our study.'  
  
'We thought of those who were filled with helpless anger, anger that was not rage because it was undirected, those who wandered because they did not know what else to do. They were the Lost, and so they became to us as well. And just as there were those who did not know who they were because of outside actions as well as personal influences, there were those who knew what they were and yet changed it, changed it as often as a woman may change her makeup to suit the times, changed it for personal gain and for personal pleasure. They became the Changeling, not fitting in other categories and becoming a new thing themselves, rather fitting for what they were.'  
  
'There were those who thought themselves better than others- because of skin, birth, wealth, whatever reason- and who thought themselves greater and grander somehow when they were really less than those they mocked. These we named the Proud, and made them the eight Spirit of our study.'  
  
' The last we argued over for days, not arguing over what fit into it but what to name it. It was the truthful, and though truth is a kind of bravery, it is a different kind, not unlike honor but still separate, a thing present both in acts and in personality. It was those who hunted truth, who looked for it in the darkest places, and those who merely wished to know things, who sought out knowledge wherever it was. It was this last that made us term it the Seeking, and the final Spirit was named.'  
  
'Then we set about creating them. And therein came the things of which I have so feared.'  
  
'The past is past, but it still effects the future.'  
  
-R & R please! 


	4. The Arming

1Hey everybody. It's been a while, ain't it? But I'm back now. It's taken me forever to get this up... school and report papers take a lot out of a man.

One note: the information on knight swords that Dumbledore gives Ron near the end of this chapter is HISTORICALLY ACCURATE! I am a big weapon buff, and have held real swords from the Medieval era. The swords are very light, and usually only weigh around three or so pounds. Despite what Hollywood says, knightly weaponry was very easy to use, and the fighters back then were quick and powerful with their swords.

Most of today's "replica" swords are completely wrong and weigh far too much. Even the heaviest swords only weighed about eight pounds, max.

Well, there's one pet peeve out of the way. So...

Onward with chapter four of "Even A Serpent Can Bleed"!

"SHOWTIME!"

Godric's Hope, fourth day of classes, 12:30, right after the Speech of the Gathering.

Dumbledore looked at all of them and spoke.

" Thank you. I was proud of all of you for different reasons when you came here, but now I am more proud of you, because you have just proven that you might, just might, be heroes."

" And now, let me explain this room. Godric built it for the sole purpose of gathering together the best weapons he could and placing them where they could be used by later students of Hogwarts in times of need. The room is normally locked, but I unlocked it recently to come inside, dust off the weapons here, and await your arrival. I ask each of you to stand up and walk to the racks on the walls, and there pick out a weapon appropriate for yourself."

" Weapons, sir? But we've received no training..." Hermione said, a confused look on her face.

" Oh, but you will," Dumbledore chuckled. " In fact, your teacher is awaiting you on the ship."

" Ship?" Hermione said. " What ship?"

Dumbledore merely shook his head, smiling, and said " Choose your weapons."

Slightly confused, all of them stood up and splintered off (an act they would become vastly familiar with later, for various reasons) and began perusing the walls. It was here that, oddly enough, many of them realized their destinies: by picking up objects whose task was to end the destinies of others.

Neville and Ernie somehow ended up walking together. The walls were little more than shining arrays of metal to Neville, and he said as much to Ernie.

" Oh, but there's more to these than meets the eye," Ernie said, in that slightly pompous voice of his that somehow managed to avoid condescension while still making Ernie sound better than those he was talking to. " Each weapon is as unique as its wielder. It's very important to choose the correct tool for the job. I, for instance," he said, picking up a battle axe and hefting it, " come from a long family of lumberjacks. Though in recent years we have raised our standing in society considerably, axes run in our blood, and we all like to feel something a little solid in our hands." Deciding the axe was not quite balanced enough, he offered the handle to Neville. " Care to try?"

" No thanks," Neville said, looking nervously around. " I don't think axes would suit me very well... er, Ernie, ain't it?"

" Yes," Ernie said calmly. Putting the battle axe back, he said, " Ernie Macmillan. You're Neville Longbottom, correct?"

" Yes," Neville said, pleased Ernie had gotten his name right.

" Care for one of these?" Ernie picked up an executioner's axe, remarkably like the one that an executioner had tried to kill Buckbeak with long ago. In fact, the blade might have been its twin.

" No thanks," Neville said, looking around.

" Alright then." Ernie almost put the weapon back, but pulled it close and began experimenting with it. He hefted it to his shoulder, put it down, and performed a few experimental chops with it. Thankfully, the room was quite wide, and there was plenty of room to swing weapons in; the only furniture in the room, the chairs and the desk, were set in the middle of a very large room. Godric had probably made it large on purpose, so he could test any weapons he brought in or make sure old ones still worked properly, Ernie mused.

Ernie tried an experimental rushing slice (as his grandpa had called it) wherein he swung the blade diagonally up from right to left while moving forward. The axe's edge came quite close to Neville's head, and Neville squeaked and ducked.

" Watch where you're swinging that!" Neville cried.

" Don't worry," Ernie said. " I've had good practice with these."

Ernie tapped the axe against the ground, and decided there and then that this was the weapon he wanted. It was heavy as hell, but powerful, and well balanced despite its weight; either it was enchanted, or (more likely), someone had placed lead or some other heavy material in the bottom end to balance the weapon out.

" Dumbledore, may I take this one?" Ernie asked to Dumbledore, raising his voice so he could be heard over the talk of the others.

" If that is your choice, then you may," Dumbledore said. " All the weapons here are yours to choose, if you wish."

" Well, here is my weapon," Ernie said in a lower tone to Neville. " Where's yours?"

" Here, I think," Neville thought aloud, looking at a large hammer inset into the wall. The head was that of an enormous mace, slit into grooves designed to heighten impact and cause incredible damage in the target. " Yeah, I think I'll take this one," he said.

" It might be a good idea to check it first, to make sure you can use it," Ernie said.

" Yeah," Neville replied, but in his head he had already decided this was his weapon. " We'll see."

He hefted the mace and was surprised by the weight of it. Surely this weapon contained power; it weighed as much as a mountain, and anything that heavy was bound to be enchanted beyond the bounds of ordinary humans. With an effort, Neville hefted it, and put it on his shoulder about midway up the shaft in imitation of Ernie. He immediately began to tip over, and let out a little squall of surprise.

" No, Neville," Ernie said, laughing slightly and smiling, " that's not right. You carry an axe like that, with the head slung over your shoulder. Carrying a hammer that way is not advised." Heading over as he spoke, he helped put Neville to rights and stood before him, holding his axe so that the bladed head rested on his shoulder and not past it. The shaft cut diagonally across his chest to end near his left hip. " This is how you carry a hammer. With an axe, you need to get as much force behind it as you can, so you put it over your shoulder where it has the most room to gain momentum before impact. With a hammer, though, your weapon doubles as your shield, and you want it in a position where you can block quickly, in case of trouble. With it held like this, you can swing it over your heart," Ernie demonstrated as Neville watched intently, " and the vital organs quickly. Look at the head on your weapon and you'll see why that's important. It's large enough to guard a lot of your torso at once, so you can block with the weapon and then counterstrike. The very first thing I was taught at home about heavy weapons is that they are not designed to strike first. They are designed to strike once. With a heavy weapon, you only need that one, perfect shot. Here, let me show you how to swing."

As Neville and Ernie went through basic heavy weapon motions (Neville soon got into the flow of things and began doing basic exercises rather smoothly, though his hands were rather slow; the weapon was very heavy), Draco stood off by himself, looking down at a rack of swords and viewing the weapons with a master's eye.

[ Ah, a rapier,] he said, pulling one out of it's sheath and admiring the blade's thin, razor-edge perfection. [ Just what I was looking for.]

This was the weapon he had trained with, the weapon he had lacked when he fought Harry Potter the first time. This was the ancient weapon of his family, the Malfoys, and though Draco was a Slytherin and henceforth innately dishonorable, he did have loyalty to one thing: his family. This was the weapon he would wield.

[And with it, kill Harry Potter,] he thought malevolently. He sheathed the beautiful weapon and began attaching the loaded scabbard to his belt.

Meanwhile, Parvati, Seamus, and Cho had been wandering about, looking at all the weapons with wonder and awe. Parvati saw a chain whip and began to squeal.

" That looks like fun!" she exclaimed, rushing over to it. Dumbledore's speech had succeeded in banishing the last foul remnants of her vision from her mind. Picking up the whip, she looked it over with the glazed look of a girl in love. Truth be told, the way the weapon reflected light did make it beautful, but Seamus did not think that a whip was an appropriate weapon for anyone other than a dominatrix.

" Um, Parvati?" he said. " You do know that whips make really poor weapons, right?"

" That is not entirely true, young Seamus," Dumbledore said. " Whips, in the hands of an expert, are devastating weapons, capable of grabbing an opponent's weapon and throwing it away, or returning it back to the attacker blade first. I do agree with you that whips are not substantially good weapons in the hands of someone who is not an expert; but by no means discourage her, if that is her choice."

Seamus shrugged and stepped away from Parvati and Cho to glance at the weapon racks farther down. Seamus liked weapons, liked combat, even, and so this room of weapons was working wonders on his psyche. Deciding that a spear would suit him best, he pulled a long handled, long pointed one off the wall. He spun it over his head, marveling at the feel of dextrous ease with which the weapon moved through the air. Putting it in his hands correctly, he began a quick triple thrust, which he had been taught on his first day of Weapon Arts class. The teacher, a grouchy half-mad old man named Delhurst, had begun the semester drilling in what he called "primitive weaponry", namely the axe and the spear. Seamus personally thought the man was an idiot; no general who has ever seen his army torn apart by lancers backed up by swordsmen would call spears primitive. Spears and axes may have been made first, but that didn't indicate anything by itself; truth be told, weapons were very simple things. Even such "sophisticated" weapons as swords were little more than sharp slabs of metal designed to kill.

Seamus finished the combination and tapped the end of the spear down on the floor, hard. The noise it made was final, a ringing tone that indicated that a choice had been made and closed forever.

" I'll take this one," Seamus said.

" As you will," Dumbledore said, nodding his head.

Pleased at Dumbledore's amicable attitude, Seamus tapped the spear against the floor once more- lightly this time, the sound it made like that of a walking stick holding up an old man- and walked back over to one of the chairs. He sat down with it cradled in his arms, butt end on the floor, spear head leaning against him. He tapped his foot against the floor, pleased with his new weapon.

Meanwhile, Parvati had pulled the metal whip off the shelf and was experimentally uncoiling it. Deciding to go for maximum effect, she lashed up and then lashed down. The result was a startlingly loud bang as the whip went off-course and struck a wall of daggers, most of which came tumbling down. Eyes growing huge at her own mistake, Parvati merely looked sheepishly around as everyone in the room stared at her. Neville, in the middle of a complex combination, almost threw his hammer across the room. Ernie's quick thinking had prevented that particular catastrophe by poking Neville in the shin with the butt end of his axe, causing Neville to automatically jerk his hands back, dragging the hammer along with them.

" What'd you do that for?" Neville whispered to Ernie fiercely.

" Sorry," Ernie said, looking back at Parvati in the now quiet room. Her cheeks were radish red.

Malfoy, an aristocrat's smile on his face, said, " Oh great. Absolutely genius. What are you doing? Dumbledore did just give you a mission to save the world, Parvati."

Finding himself in odd agreement with Malfoy, Harry grinned at his quip and said nothing.

" Sorry, Mr. Dumbledore... er.... sir..." Looking as if she would like nothing more than to find a shell to crawl back into and hide, Parvati dropped the whip and began picking up the daggers, attempting to put them back on their shelves.

" No need," Dumbledore said, raising his hand in an almost negligent gesture. Weapons flew back onto the walls. Parvati looked at the floor and saw that the whip was still down there.

" Why didn't you get this one?" she asked.

" I had assumed you were going to use that weapon," Dumbledore said quietly.

" But, uh... what about..."

" Your little mistake? Those things happen," Dumbledore said. " You are new to the weapon, and since no one was hurt, the accident is merely funny, not dishonorable. Go on, pick it up, if you wish to use it. There is no shame here."

Still feeling as if she should crawl into a hole somewhere, Parvati picked up the whip and looped it through a convenient hole in her robes, whispering a spell to keep it in place. Stepping back, she watched Cho as she glanced at the daggers Parvati had knocked down.

" Any of those suit you?" Parvati asked, speaking mostly out of embarrassment.

" Not really," Cho said. She glanced around the room. " In fact, nothing here really seems to suit me." She glanced around, as if wondering about something, then turned to face Dumbledore.

" Sir," she said, " why did you choose me?"

" Ms. Chang?" Dumbledore said respectfully.

" I'm not a warrior," Cho said. " I'm an average student. I don't have anything special about me... why did you choose me?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I cannot really answer that... but I can try. The truth is that each of you are special, in some way. You do not know it yet, Cho, but you are vitally important to the success of this mission. Trust and believe in yourself. Those words are cliched, but as true now as they were when they were first spoken."

Cho Chang said nothing, merely looked at the floor and thought for a minute. Dumbledore said, "If you do not believe in your ability to wield a weapon at close range, may I suggest something?"

" What?" Cho said.

" There is a fine longbow back there," Dumbledore said, pointing. " I believe that it is made of windwood, and strung with eagle sinew. Made by Helga Hufflepuff herself. She never was much for close combat, but she was an excellent shot, and she loved crafting things. Godric won it from her in a game of dice... there is also a quiver back there, one Godric crafted out of dragon leather and the inside of a porcupine's flesh. Porcupine's flesh is interesting material; when enchanted, it cannot be pierced, slashed, or cut in any way, save by wood..." Dumbledore shook himself, and said, "I believe that you will find the bow and arrow are fine weapons for one such as yourself, Cho."

Cho nodded to him and went to pick up the bow. It was a beautiful thing, light green and white dancing on its surface, the string strong, vibrant, and creating an almost musical _twang_ when Cho plucked it. The quiver, a light forest brown, lay next to it. It was empty of arrows.

" Sir..." Cho said. "Where are the arrows?"

" You will find a full complement of arrows, plus the materials to fletch your own, on the ship," Dumbledore said.

" That's twice now that you've mentioned a ship," Hermione said. "What are you talking about?"

" In time, in time," Dumbledore said. "After all, an old man's got to have his secrets now, doesn't he?" He chuckled good-naturedly. "Trust me, it'll be a most... pleasant surprise."

" If you say so," Hermione said doubtfully, turning away to look at the walls. She was standing next to Ron and Harry, and they were the only ones who had not chosen a weapon yet.

" What are you taking?" Hermione said to them.

" This," Ron said, taking down a knight's broadsword. He picked it up, swung it, and said, "Hey, I think there's something wrong with this one."

" What is it?" Harry said.

" It's too light," Ron said. "It only weighs a couple of pounds." He started to put it back when Dumbledore called to him.

" That weapon is actually quite heavy for a sword, Ron," he said. " It weighs four pounds, no more, no less. It is a weapon Godric himself favored, when he wasn't using his longsword. It is accurate and a powerful weapon, I assure you."

" But I thought swords were heavy?" Ron said. "We have a few Muggle made replicas in our house, and they're real heavy."

" Muggle television and urban myth states that swords were heavy, clunky weapons to wield," Dumbledore said. "Henceforth, the "replicas" they make are usually filled with some heavy substance so that they "feel" right. But, as you can probably guess, this makes no sense! These weapons were used by Muggles for centuries. One does not wield a slow, clunky weapon for centuries, because one will get killed by the first person to come along with a staff. A "real" sword only weighs a few pounds, and even the six foot long claymores weighed only eight to ten pounds, depending on the make. And likewise, those who fight with them are fast, terribly so, capable of thrusting their weapon completely through the opponent, withdrawing it, and turning to fight another in the blink of an eye. They also learn wrestling techniques, so that they can throw their opponent down and finish them off while they are recovering from the throw. There are more ways of fighting with a sword than with any other weapon, save perhaps the fists and the feet. That weapon is an excellent example of its kind."

Rather awed by this speech, Ron lowered the sword back down from the pedestal it had been mounted on and looked at it with new wonder. Putting its hilt firmly in his right hand, he swung it a few times, marveling at how the blade seemed to sing as it split the air.

" I'll take it," Ron said.

Hermione, meanwhile, had been taking a staff down from the wall. It was pure white, made of some unidentifiable material that seemed like metal but felt like wood, and was tipped with a small obsidian jewel. " I'll take this one," she said.

All eyes turned to Harry, who had been standing nearby watching as Ron practiced with his sword. He held no weapon in his hand, and seemed in no hurry to get one.

Dumbledore said, "Have you found your weapon, Harry?"

" He probably thinks he's too good to wield any of them," Draco said, sneering.

" Actually, I do," Harry said smugly. "The only weapon I will wield is my body. And, before you say anything smart to that, Draco, remember that my hands were more than enough to put you in the infirmary for a few days."

Draco's face lit up in rage, and then he turned away to glower.

" Are you sure, Harry?" Dumbledore said. His eyes held something strange in them...

" Yes," Harry said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

" No reason," Dumbledore said. "I would just be more... ah... reassured if you were to take a weapon, that is all." Harry noticed with something like awe that Dumbledore had sweat on his forehead.

" I'm fine," he said, and Dumbledore nodded his head.

" Alright then," he said, and the slight tremble in his voice that Harry had almost missed disappeared, and it was the proud voice of the Headmaster hammering out that said, "If you are all ready, let's go meet the ship and crew that will carry you all over the world."

Dumbledore stood and walked out of the room. Carrying their weapons with them, the others followed him. Harry glanced back, just once, as if he thought he might see something that would tell him why Dumbledore was acting so strangely... but there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

---

Outer Wall of Hogwarts, five minutes later.

Dumbledore stood near an enormous oak door, his back turned to it, and faced the nine companions. Smiling, he raised his hand, fingers in the classic "click" position.

" Ladies and Gentlemen," Dumbledore said, smiling, "meet your new ship!"

With that, he clicked his fingers, and the doors opened. As they swung into the open air, a shadow covered the sun and blotted out the sky. As the enormous girth of _something_ came down to touch the ground of the courtyard, all nine stumbled out into sunlight.

Draco, rather aptly, summed it up by saying, "What- the hell- is _that?_"

Dumbledore, smiling, said simply, "The Excelsior."

-No notes from Salazar's notebook this chapter. I'm thinking of doing it every other chapter, so that I don't tell you guys too much of the storyline... I just want to give you enough to tempt ye! (Chuckles) Read and review, please!


	5. The Last Day at Hogwarts

Hey everybody. I know it's been a while.... but I've been gone on a loong trip, and I've been working on a physics paper. So-

Without further ado!

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Five

The Last Day at Hogwarts

Outside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, fourth day of classes.

All nine of them- every hero, villian, madman, or just plain ordinary child- stared at the thing before them in complete silence. Not even Malfoy, after his first exclamation, found any words to express their awe at the sight before them.

Floating gently off the ground, hovering slightly, was the airship _Excelsior_, a mighty weapon donated by Durmstrang to Hogwarts following a very urgent letter Dumbledore sent by the most private and circuitious of routes to Durmstrang's Headmaster. Dumbledore had wanted to ask for the _Bleak Anchor_, but knew that he had not a snowball's chance in hell of getting the ship, so he asked for their second-best ship, the _Excelsior_. Truth be told, Durmstrang's Headmaster had been happy to get rid of it; hovering beside the other airships in Durmstrang's harbor, the _Excelsior_'s shining coat made the other ships look rather bad. It especially made the _Bleak Anchor_, which in reality was quite possibly the most powerful ship in existence, look horrible- it resembled an old junker next to the shinier, newer airship. The art of airship making was an extremely rare and relatively new art, barely three hundred years old, and it was changing all the time. The _Excelsior_ was barely eight years old.

The ship's right side was facing the group, so they all got a good profile glimpse of the craft. The craft's rear was a bulge, aiming outwards, which contained the Goblin-made engines (Goblins had invented airships and owned all the patents) and Wizard-enchanted spells that allowed the ship to partially defy gravity. This part was black, with several panels covering where the engine thrusters would be when the ship took off. The massive middle of the ship was made like a great pentagon, with the top "point" aiming straight up so that the bottom of the craft was flat. Coming out from the point aimed towards them was a great blade, curving backwards and then forward like the tusks of some ancient mammoth, ending in two split tips that ended in spear points. In contrast to the shining silver of the midsection, this wing was jet black. It's tips seemed almost to smile malevolently at them as they looked at it.

The front of the craft was the same silver as the midsection, but this was the one part obviously made for speed- it sloped down in a cone shape, tapering to a stop a considerable distance away. The Wizards at Durmstrang had engraved it with a corkscrew shape, making the ship appear as if it was spinning even though it was at rest. Two small grey barrels, almost invisible in the glare from the ship, aimed innocuously forward from beneath the nose cone- most of the group never even saw them, though Hermione did, and it confirmed her suspicions. This was either a warship, or someone was having fun putting fake cannons on the front of the ship.

Either way, the ship looked extremely high-tech, and when the nine finally recovered from their initial awe, they immediately began wondering about it. Eventually some of them turned to Dumbledore, who'd stood by the side of the door which led back into Hogwarts (a door all the children had left without even realizing it) and smiled the entire time while the former students stared at the ship.

" Hey Dumbledore!" Parvati said. " What is this thing?"

" An airship," Dumbledore said, smiling.

" I've heard of these," Hermione said. " They're made by Goblins..."

Malfoy almost interrupted her, hoping to slide in a snide comment on Know-It-All Granger, but he was too interested in what she was going to say to bother with the insults at the moment. Maybe later he would pick on the brown-haired annoyance.

" They were invented in the last Goblin-Wizard war," Hermione went on. " Goblins used them to ferry troops and drop bombs on Wizard strongholds. The Battle of Haste-Farthings was won by only two of these ships, against over four hundred Wizard troops..." She trailed off, and then looked at Dumbledore. " Dumbledore, how did you get one of these ships? The Goblins have only ever given out three, and all of those were to Durmstrang fifty years ago as a gift for protecting Gringotts from a group of thieves! There's no way you could ever have gotten one of these unless you..." She stopped.

" I assure you, Miss Granger, that I have not performed any illegal activities of any sort to gain this ship," Dumbledore said, smiling. " I've never worked under shadowy motives, and don't plan to start anytime soon." Harry thought that this last part was bullshit- he knew Dumbledore well enough to say that he _had_ participated in his share of shadowy activities under shadowy motives at certain times- but that was rather beside the point. " The Goblins have, indeed, only ever given out three airships: the _Crying Night_, the _Port Storm_, and the _Bleak Anchor_. All three of those ships are now sitting safely in Durmstrang's harbor. However, Durmstrang has been doing something that isn't in the history books you have read, Miss Granger. That something is this: building airships. They've completed ten of them." Dumbledore nodded towards the ship. " This is the last one they completed. It's name is the _Excelsior_, as I've said already, and it is a marvel of Goblin technology and Wizard ingenuity. It is a most excellent ship, and a fitting steed for your journey."

" You mean we get to ride in it?!?" Parvati said. " That's great!" She was almost bouncing where she stood.

Ron nodded. " I'm echoing the sentiment! Bloody perfect!" A great big grin spread across his face.

Harry smirked. " I'll give you credit, Dumbledore- this is the best damn trick I've seen in years. Good work." Then he smiled, and years and years of icy coldness dropped off his face in a glance. Then his face returned to its former somber aspect, to the face he had worn every day after Sirius' death. " Now, where exactly do we go? I've read pretty far into Slytherin's notes, but I've yet to find where a single Spirit is hidden..."

Dumbledore shook his head. " Slytherin was a sly old man, and even while writing the notes, he knew that someone might find the book someday. So he never wrote down directly where he hid the Spirits. Instead, he employed a method called "Ghost Quill." Ghost Quill is performed by writing with ink that has been mixed with both a dragon's and a gryphon's blood. The mixing of the two opposing creatures causes the ink to slip outside reality, and the words become invisible as a side effect.The method allows one to write completely outside the bounds of ordinary reality, and entire books have been written with this method. The method causes the book and the words written to be partially 'unreal', and henceforth they do not affect that which is around them. You've actually read over Slytherin's notes on the Spirits, but you didn't see them. To make words written in Ghost Quill appear, you must put a drop of Manticore poison on the spot where the words were originally written. Here, let me see the journal." Harry handed it over, and Dumbledore slipped a small vial out of his pocket. It was filled with a purple liquid, and the glass bottle was topped by a stopper made of charcoal. When Dumbledore opened the bottle, everyone there heard something sigh... it may have been the wind blowing through the trees, but it sounded like a dying woman's last sighing breath. Dumbledore opened the journal, and poured a single drop of the purple fluid on the top of one of the pages. The drop hit, splashed, bubbled, sighed again- and then dissappeared.

The page changed right before their eyes. There was no subtle shift, no gradual change- just one second, the words were not there, and the next they were. Dumbledore handed the book back to Harry and recapped the Manticore posion.

" Manticore poison works by substituting itself for the body's natural organs," Dumbledore said. " It carries this property with it into the magical realms, where it naturally replaces whatever it hits. When I put that drop on the page, it found the hidden words and replaced them with itself, henceforth drawing the words out of unreality and placing them squarely here. In the nowhere that is the darkness that surrounds our world, there is now one drop of Manticore poison floating around from the surface of that paper." Following this strange announcement, Dumbledore leaned over and said, " I believe that should tell you where the Spirit of the Brave is located..."

Harry looked down, and the others gathered about him, until nine pairs of eyes (and a single pair of ancient ones) looked at the page. Surprising everyone, Dumbledore began to read the words inscribed upon the page.

(BREAK: Had to insert these, damn QuickEdit is being a bitch again)

"Even A Serpent", The Spirit of the Brave

Here I shall record, in Ghost Quill, the powers and location of the Brave Spirit. I chose to hide it first for one reason- it is easily the most visible and noticeable of the spirits, and I do not wish to draw attention to myself after I begin my journey in earnest. Since I cannot go far with this spirit without attracting too much attention, I shall head north- to Loch Ness in Scotland. There I shall place this Spirit. It is far enough away from Hogwarts that no one will suspect our involvement with it, and close enough that I can get there quickly and easily. My flying carpet will prove itself most valuable, I believe, before this journey is through.

First, allow me to say this: without a Wizard to act as Host, each Spirit merely looks like a floating orb of light. Oddly, the color is different for each Spirit- and I do not remember us every saying we would color-coordinate these things. A quick sketch:

Brave: White Color

Raging: Black Color

Proud: Red Color

Dreaming: Light Blue Color

Steadfast: Dark Blue Color

Changeling: Purple Color

Lost: Shifting mix of blues and blacks; the blues are streaks that seem to be going "down" the blackness of the rest of the sphere

Seeking: Brown Color

Wounded: Grey Color

I'm not for sure what these colors mean, but I can assume that each color represents the attributes scheduled within. Brave is "pure", so it's color is White. The Raging is an evil, foul thing, so it's color is black. The others are just as obviously fitting, in some ways if not in others.

Huh... this last paragraph really details the problem, doesn't it? We didn't mean to give these things colors, but here they are, glowing in my bag as I write this journal atop my flying carpet, heading towards the Loch where I will deposit one of them. We didn't mean to give them so much power- but I can feel it now, trembling my bones, power so great that it doesn't touch that snake-thing in my mind that has always said 'take it" whenever I am near strength but rather reaches deeper and touches that part of all of us that is scared to touch fire. Yes. That is what I feel like. I feel like a small child, next to some great and incredible warmth, wanting to touch that great warmth but knowing that it will consume me if I do. That torment, at least, is gone from me; for the first time in years I live free of the greed that has driven me on all my life. My greed died with those students of Hogwarts who my blindness killed. My greed died... with her...

Bah. I'm not here to soliloquize on the fate of someone whose name has been struck from every book in England and France. I'm here to speak of the Brave. Here I shall write what little I know of these Spirits, these flames I am so scared to touch... it isn't much, because only someone who has used one of these Spirits can tell you everything about it, but it might be enough to get future generations started.

First off, the Brave is the Spirit of Love. It is the Spirit of Courage. It is the Spirit of the Knight. Someone who wields the Brave shines, because the force of light itself is held within them. Someone wielding the Brave is someone who stands out in a crowd, for they are head and shoulders above the rest. Of all the Spirits, only one is truly, truly Good, in all senses of the word- and that one is the Brave.

The Brave is not a Spirit for the weak; because, like all true acts of Good, it is a staggering thing and almost impossible to comprehend in any way save that of the "gut" instinct, or as I like to call it, soul instinct. The Brave is powerful, but it has this one weakness: it is so consumed with doing what it believes is right that it will forge on regardless of what the truth is. Someone under the Brave may be hard to bring around.

One last thing- the Brave is a beacon. As I have said before, I am hiding it first. The reason is simple- all the Spirits emit auras that shine on the magical sphere like Wizards on a Goblin Mage-Radar. I am quite powerful, and most of these Spirits are easy to hide. The Brave, however, refuses to be hidden. I can no more block its power than I could dim the sun by putting my fingers on it. So I must hide it first, and place it in deep and dark places, so that its' light will become dim and faint. If I can complete the spell I am working on, then it won't matter how bright the Brave becomes... but if I should fail, then what I do now must hold.

So, you who read this and seek the Spirits, remember this: If you have enemies, they will find you so long as you hold the Brave in your grasp, unless you find a way to hide it so that it is dim and dark.

I am at the Loch now, and I see the kelpie below the surface, in the form of a sea serpent, catching fish and harassing the local Muggles for fun. I send a call to it, to clear the waters so I can come down. The kelpie, a male named Seshlo, chuckles when it hears my voice in its mind. He and I are old friends. He raises up and lets out a bellowing roar, and the Muggles nearby take one look at him and haul ass for the nearest hills. The monster of the Loch has been nothing but a whispered story up until now, and to see the legend come alive is more then they can bear. The first smile in weeks touches my lips. I lower myself to the shore.

And why are you here? Seshlo thinks to me, bringing his coiling body to the shore, where I sit and wait with my bag of nightmare tricks. He raises his head high in the air and looks down at me, but the look on his serpentine face is that of a smile- or as much of one as a serpent can manage, anyway. (What brings the powerful Headmaster of Slytherin, Second House of mighty Hogwarts, here to my humble domain?) He chuckles again. Seshlo has always been a ham.

The smile leaves my lips. (I am Headmaster no longer, Seshlo,) I tell him. (I... have done something dishonorable, and lost my position.)

Seshlo's eyes, feet above my head, grow colder and sharper all at once. (What have you done, Salazar?) he says, tongue flicking. (I knew you were greedy but... what have you done?)

(I allowed a student to become powerful when I should not have,) I say. (She slew several other students. I left Hogwarts after that.)

His tongue flicks the air again, while he muses on this. (Who?) he says. (Not... DeGray?) he asks, remembering the slip of a girl I'd brought to him a year ago. Ellen had always loved kelpies, and a chance to visit one of the oldest ones had made her happy for a week. Seshlo had even let her ride on his back, and she'd loved every minute of it. I remember standing on the beach, watching, feeling paranoid that Seshlo would drop her, and then laughing at myself for acting like a father to her. I'd found it funny, at the time, to think of myself as a father to Ellen.

I blink back tears.

(So.) Seshlo says. It is all he needs to say; my face has told him everything. (Why are you here, old friend?) he says, and it cheers me, slightly, to know that he will not desert me despite what I've done.

(I must hide something,) I say. (We... the other Headmasters and I, we've created something. Something new. Something dangerous. I have to hide at least one part of it here. Can you help me?)

Seshlo closes his eyes and his tongue flicks out while he thinks. (Show it to me.) He opens his eyes and lowers his head to look at me more closely.

I take out the glowing orb of white light that is the Spirit of the Brave. He looks at the light, and turns his head sideways, to look at it better. For long minutes, neither of us say anything- the light of the Spirit seems to tell us everything we need to know.

Finally, Seshlo nods his head- a human gesture, one he is putting out for my benefit; among kelpies, a wink of the left eye followed by a wink of the right eye is the physical symbol for "yes". (I will do it,) he says. (I shall hide this thing for you. What is its name?)

I blink, caught unawares by this question, then nod. (It is the Spirit of the Brave. Can you hide it? It shines so... I fear that it will be discovered unless put in a black and bleak place.)

And here is the thing that makes me wonder most about what arrogance possessed me and the other Headmasters when we created these things, the arrogance that made us so blind to what the Spirits really mean. Seshlo laughed when I said that, actually laughed- not rolling-on-floor type laughter, but laughter nonetheless.

(Don't you know the nature of light?) he says, taking the ball into his mouth and turning to dive beneath the waves. (It can only shine when it is _in_ darkness.)

As I pull out on my flying carpet, I take Seshlo's words with me.

(BREAK)

When the last echoes of Dumbledore's words died away, Harry shut the book slowly and placed it into a pocket of his robes. Turning to the others, he said, " Loch Ness... that's where the Spirit of Bravery is hidden."

" Loch Ness..." Ron said. " The kelpie there, I thought her name was Nessie?"

" That's only what Muggles call her," Hermione said. " Her real name is Ternlio. She is female, but that's about all the Muggles got right. She's Seshlo's great great granddaughter."

" Oh," Ron said.

" Know-It-All Granger," Malfoy said, sniggering in the back.

Before Dumbledore, Harry, or anyone could reply, Ernie surprised them all by breaking out laughing. " Yes she is!" he cried out, slapping Malfoy on the back. " And thank the gods for it!"

Laughter erupted out of the group (with the exception of Malfoy, who was busy glaring at Ernie and rubbing his shoulder). When it had quieted down, Dumbledore looked at them and nodded.

" You must head for Loch Ness at all speed," he said. " Voldemort has no idea that the Spirits even exist, but he is no fool, and he's keeping up with the movements of almost everything in England. Soon enough, he will be aware of you. When he is, he will stop at nothing to kill all of you- especially you, Harry. So, be on your guard." He nodded towards them, then turned and began walking back to the door. " I leave you with only these words- trust Fate."

And with that, Dumbledore walked through the door and disappeared.

Left to their own, the group naturally turned to the one person there who had experience in these matters- Harry Potter. When they turned to him, he looked them each in the eye and said, " Well, let's get going, then. I want to see inside this ship..."

Parvati, released from Dumbledore's sobering gaze, actually jumped in the air in joy. " Yes! Let's get on it!"

Seamus chuckled next to her. " Well, someone's happy."

Parvati, however, was already going towards the ship. Shaking his head, Seamus hoisted his spear and followed her. The others filed off onto the ship, oohing and aweing at times as they managed to get a closer look at the ship. As they headed towards it, a door opened in the side, and a small walkway extended out, plates of metal sliding out of each other to form a path. The figure who stepped down let out a happy laugh that sounded like a yelp and said, " I can't believe it! It's damn good to see you again, Harry!"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and shouted, " Lupin?!?"

-R and R please!


	6. The Takeoff

Hey everyone. Glad for feedback! So now...

Without further ado!

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Six

The _Excelsior_

Outside Hogwarts, near warship _Excelsior_, fourth day of classes.

Harry stared before him, at the figure that was lost in the bright light as only a subtle darkness but was getting gradually more clear as it walked towards him, and the sunny smile on that face broke through Harry's sadness at last. Thoughts ran through Harry's head while he looked at the cheerful, smiling form of his former teacher, the well-known lycanthrope Professor Lupin (Remus to friends), and all of them centered on the year he'd been here, that third year when he'd met both Lupin and Sirius for the first time, as well as saved the life of that worthless wretch Peter Pettigrew (who had repaid the favor by using Harry to jumpstart Voldemort's resurrection potion). Harry flashed back to all those magical years, and it was with the first honest smile since Sirius' death that he greeted Sirius. He had smiled before now, smiled in happiness, but even then, though many cold years fell off him, the coldness was still in his heart; but now there was nothing but sunshine and happiness in it for Lupin.

" Lupin!" Harry cried again, and ran forward, tackling Lupin in a hug. Lupin laughed and hugged Harry back as well. Harry smiled and laughed back into the great leather overcoat Lupin was wearing.

" Well, Harry! It's good to see you too!" Lupin cried, laughing. Harry simply hugged him and smiled, thinking that he had needed this. He needed to see one of Sirius' friends. He had been unable to talk, to really talk, to someone who knew Sirius as he did, and though Ron was a good friend, not all the kindness in the world would make up for shared experience. And now only two members of that great pact of friends at Hogwarts remained- and one of them, Peter Pettigrew, had fallen out of that pact some time ago. Lupin was really the only one left of the old foursome of friends. And Harry had needed to see him.

_Tonight,_ he thought, _I'm going to find him and talk to him. Just talk. About Sirius and about old times._

Finally letting go, Harry stepped back and looked his friend over. He was both surprised and ruefully unsurprised at what he found.

Lupin looked almost the same as he had when Harry had last saw him- in fact, the one before him and the one in his memory were almost exact twins in every way, right down to the shoes- but for the great longcoat he wore, and one other thing.

Lupin had no eyebrows. Harry blinked as he looked at this, and then Lupin laughed.

" Don't worry, Harry!" Lupin said, rubbing at the spot where his eyebrows had been. " They'll grow back. Eventually," he added, almost as an afterthought.

" What happened to you?" Harry said. " Did you burn your eyebrows off or something?"

" What has happened to Lupin," a grave voice said from the ship, " is a mere side effect of a potion I made for him. It was designed to keep his lycanthrope state in a more or less permanent state of slumber. The potion was perfect, but Lupin is apparently slightly allergic to ForeverKiss fluid, and his eyebrows fell off in an almost perfect manner not five days ago, when he first drank the potion."

Harry snapped his head up, and there, stern and commanding as ever, Snape stood, body blocking the entryway into the ship and appearing black and grim in the backwash of light from the ship. " It was an unfortunate but not altogether unexpected side-effect," Snape continued. " An experiment with some of his hair proved that some of it would show adverse side effects. I had expected it to entirely bald him, but that was not the case." Snape's tone had not changed when he said this, but Harry thought he detected the hint of a laugh from him. Snape was an extremely dry man, and so even his jokes were wrapped up in a desert-like aura of completely dead air. Assuming, of course, that Snape _had_ been joking; with him, no one could ever tell.

" Snape?" Harry said. As the rest of the group followed him, considerably more subdued now that a teacher was watching (even if, of course, they _were_ free people now, they all still felt like students), Harry walked up the steps to greet him. " What are you doing here?"

" How did you get here so fast?" Cho said. " You were teaching classes only a little while ago..."

Snape's smile, thin and tight, appeared on his face. " It is a little device that I'm sure a certain Miss Hermione Granger is familiar with..." He pulled a small hourglass out of a pocket of his robes, showing it to them. " The Time-Turner is an invaluable device when properly used... no, Mr. Harry Potter?"

Harry felt a bead of sweat form on his head as he remembered yet another event from his action-packed third year: the time he, Ron, and Hermione had used Hermione's Time-Turner to free Buckbeak and save Sirius. Snape, in a burst of deductive reasoning, had figured out that they were behind it, but could never prove it. Maybe now Snape had finally found a way to trap Harry...

" Don't worry, Mr. Potter," Snape said, tucking the Time-Turner back into a pocket of his robes. " I know about you and your... doings, that resulted in Sirius' escape. I do not know quite how you managed to do it, but I do know enough to say that I am- slightly - impressed by your work." His thin smile, so much like a purse of distaste to begin with, disappeared. " Now, I'm sure all of you will want to see inside the ship, hm?"

Nodding, the group followed him. Ron, eyes wide as he considered the scary fact that Snape might know what they had done in their third year, looked at Hermione and mouthed "He knows!" Hermione nodded sagely and relegated the fact to a corner in her mind. It might prove useful someday.

The rest of the group, not knowing what was going on, might have asked about it, but at that moment, they stepped inside the _Excelsior_, and all other thought was driven from their minds.

-

Inside the airship _Excelsior_, same time.

Seamus had taken up a place in the back of the group, and because of this he was one of the last on board. However, one look around convinced him that being up front, where you had to move quicker to keep up with Snape, was not where he wanted to be. His walk slowed to a crawl, as Snape led them through the ship, explaining various things along the way. Seamus ignored him. Right now, all he cared about was the great ironworks about him.

The first step onto the ship was a blind one, a leap of faith into the shining interior of the hull. But once inside, one's eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness, and one could see...

The entryway opened onto a small metal platform. All around the platform, both above and below, goblins worked, crawling through mazes of metal and pipes and hissing steamworks as they fixed, checked, repaired, and tended to the ship's every need. The walls seemed to be living things, full of scurrying goblins clinging to ladders with only their toes as they checked the various works and machinations of the great being. Ladders went up and down and straight and flat on the walls as goblins climbed them, moved aside on them, grumbled on them, sometimes even ate on them (one goblin, Seamus noted with wonder, was eating a small cheese Danish and drinking coffee, all while upside down, holding the coffee so that it's open end was pointing towards his toes). The sounds of goblins talking, goblins laughing, and something that sounded distinctly like cursing filled the caverns, as the ship moved and pulsed in every direction. Seamus had fallen far behind everyone, but he didn't notice in his wonder at all that was happening about him (and there was the fact that, too, Seamus had never been all that interested in what the "group" was currently doing, regardless of whether that group was an entire class or the eight others sent on a special mission by Dumbledore plus their two chaffeurs). He stopped completely and looked around, dropping his hands in amazement, spear diagonaling down as its end bobbed and tipped.

" What is this place?" he whispered to himself, accidentally thinking out loud.

" The guts of the steamworks that run this ship," a voice said behind him. Seamus whirled about, and there, on a ladder going towards what Seamus assumed was the "left", a goblin hung, completely perpendicular to Seamus, looking at him with its scarred and steam-burned face.

" Steamworks?" Seamus said dumbly. The goblin nodded sagely.

" Aye," he said, turning his head upwards and downwards, looking at each thing as if to see what special wisdom it possessed, and it struck Seamus that he was talking to an incredibly old goblin here. This goblin may well have been alive during the last Goblin/Wizard wars, over three hundred years ago.

" Steamworks," the goblin said, still looking around. " The ship is built like this: the engines are run on thunder. Cogworks makes the thunder. Steamworks makes the cogworks move. And at the bottom of it all," and here the Goblin nodded, towards what Seamus thought of as "left", " there is the water that makes the steamworks move. From water to thunder, and from there the fire that propels this ship. That is the power of this ship." The old goblin looked wistfully at where he'd said the "water" was, but Seamus was caught up in his own thoughts of machinery and dreams that the wonderfully evocative word "cogworks" had evoked in his mind: images of great, turning pendulums and eternal, endless cogs, all working to a steam-driven beat.

" Wow," Seamus said. The old goblin looked at him and smiled.

" Yes," he said, beginning to climb backwards, looking back at the ladder as he passed Seamus in the opposite direction, " wow. Now and forever."

As the old goblin left, Seamus turned to look around, and realized that he was alone. This caused him no undue worry of its own, but he did worry he might miss out on something Snape might say about the ship. Leaning his spear back on his shoulder, he took off at a dead run.

-

Head of the ship _Excelsior_, some minutes later.

Snape turned to the group behind him and said, " Behind this door is the control room. It is here that the pilot, copilots, and navigators stay, along with the gunmen who control the ship's weaponry. Here," and Snape turned to the door, just in time to miss Seamus as he rounded a bend in the tunnel and took up position in the back of the group, beside Parvati (who was merely staring around dreamily) and Cho (whose eyes were looking noticeably better; the redness around them was finally drying up), " is the way in which you open the doors upon this ship. Merely stand before them, put your hand out, and tap once with the back of your fist." Snape demonstrated, turning his hand and rapping once on the door, which slowly slid open as he stood before it. " This works on almost every door, with the exception of the engine room, where only a few goblins are allowed in. They believe that Wizards will foul up the works merely by being there. I hope that is not the case, should any of you," and he turned again and looked at all of them, Potter and Hermione most especially, " take it into your heads to go there and try your luck at engineering." Once again the thin line of a smile appeared, then disappeared. " Come. I shall show you the control room."

Snape stepped inside and began walking off to the side, following the wall as he entered the room. Traveling single file, the rest of the group proceeded as well, Seamus bringing up the rear, with Lupin just in front of him. Seamus vaguely heard Lupin whisper that Snape always did love giving tours and lectures, and heard Parvati giggle, but he was too busy looking into the room (and feeling smug that he'd avoided getting caught by Snape for tardiness) to notice or care. He was far too absorbed by the room.

In complete contrast to the maze of steam carrying pipes and ladders that had made up the bulk of the ship they had just went through, the head room was a small, confined place, neat and orderly, everyone at their stations and not a hair out of place. At the front of the room (to the left of the children as they stood on the far left side of the wall) a great glass window was shown, and Seamus figured that it must be a spell; the outside was opaque, as they had seen before. The view was that of Hogwarts, the walls of the building in front of them, and in little inserts on the sides were shown back, right, and left views, along with a bottom view (showing nothing but grass) and a top view (showing nothing but sky). The insets were helpfully labeled and made viewing much easier for everyone involved. Behind this great glass wall, two Wizards sat, each in small cubicles spaced far apart from each other, and from the way they touched and manipulated various projections on the flat desks before them, Seamus guessed that they were responsible for the views he was seeing. Each time a Wizard moved something on his desk, a part of the screen before them moved, one insert flashing into the next and vice versa. The Wizards were clearly bored with their work, which must be routine or at the least child's play for them by now. It would be a different matter when they were in flight, Seamus guessed.

Seated behind them were several consoles with Goblins at them, and here the workplaces resembled Muggle workspaces, though with no clutter and considerably more wiring. The Goblins were checking and typing into the screens as lines of some strange and archaic symbols and numbers (1's and 0's being most common, though a few strange designs that looked like both a 1 _and_ a 0, put together, flashed up as well) appeared on them, running upwards at a slow, easy pace. Sometimes the designs would stop and a Goblin would key an extra-long series of integers or numbers (or something; Seamus couldn't tell what from where he was) and then the procession would continue. One of the Goblins was smoking and using the ashes as a means of creating an elaborate tatoo on his arm. From the many ash-stains on his fingers, it was clear he had done this for some time.

At the head of the room, more Wizards and Goblins sat together, and finally, here, on a raised platform, stood two people: a female Goblin with a constantly intense, scurrilous look on her face, and a male Wizard, composed and calm as he stood by his companion at what Seamus thought of as the captain's seat. Seamus disliked him instantly; he had never liked people in authority, but something told him that the Wizard here was not someone he would ever like, leader or not. Parvati, next to him, thought he emanated a great and sincere calm that spread to her and moved her bubbly cheerfulness to calm exuberance. He had much the same effect on the rest of the group. He approached them and smiled.

" Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, spreading his hands and bowing to them (mocking to Seamus, pleasing to Harry), " I am Magic Lieutanant Armand Ganner. And this," he said, bowing with a sweep to the Goblin beside him, " is Captain Jenn'el Dumore, who actually runs this ship." He said this with a self-deprecating smile that Malfoy recognized as the true and honest smile of a subordinate, smirking at a moment when he can pick at his boss a little without getting in trouble. Malfoy had seen the same smile often enough on the faces of his own servants... usually a few minutes before he booted them out of his presence permanently.

" Thank you for your introduction, Lieutanant," Jenn'el commented dryly, then said to the rest of them, " Hello, and welcome aboard the _Excelsior_. This will be your new home now, until we complete the mission given to us by Headmaster Dumbledore of Hogwarts."

" The Admiral is a great man, and we hope to continue working under him as long as he sees fit," Lt. Armand said.

" The Admiral?" Hermione said, but the rest of her questions were cut off by a wave of Jenn'el's hand.

" What Armand calls the Headmaster," she said. " It's an affinity the rest of the crew does not share." Turning to face the front of the ship and craning her neck skyward, as if already itching to leave the ground and explore the skies, the Captain said, " Are there any questions before we take you to your rooms?"

" Yes," Seamus said, raising his hand so Jenn'el could see who it was. Seeing her notice him, he said, " How do you fly this aircraft?"

Jenn'el chuckled at something, then said, " 'Aircraft' is an extremely archaic term among we Goblins, and we no longer use it. 'Airship' is the preferred term nowadays." She pointed down toward the Wizards at the front of the ship without looking down at them and said, " Those Wizards up there are Navigators. They control the spells that allow for sight outside the ship. Navigators are also responsible for the spells that will allow you to have "windows" in your rooms." Moving her finger down without dipping her head in the slightest, she continued, " Those Goblins are Scanners. Scanners keep up with the programs that run this ship. The _Excelsior_ has more Scanners than normal, because of the complex coding used. Our coding is based on a random, full-proof design that keeps others from hacking into our ships," and here Hermione was forcibly reminded of a book she'd read once, detailing Wizard battle tactics against Goblins, and one of the most popular was a very subtle spell that Goblins called a "code-breaker" for some reason, which caused the numbers in Goblin programming code to randomly shift between 1 and 0, " but it also requires a group of highly trained Goblins to continually scroll the code, making sure that the random changes do not effect any vital parts of code. It also allows them to actually change the entire function of certain parts of the ship... for example, when one set of integers, or "bit", is present in the code, the armor of the ship is opaque, but by inserting a different bit, the armor of the ship will change colors, as it's pre-programmed to do. It's rather interesting, actually." Moving her finger down one more time, the Captain said, " Last but not least, this is the main command center, called the Bay. Here are the weapon controllers, pilot and co-pilot, radar workers, and of course, me and Lt. Armand here." Turning to the group, she lowered her face and smiled, and in an instant Hermione came to a conclusion: She was proud of her ship. Extremely so. Not proud in the obnoxious, "I've got a better ship than you!" type way; but proud of her ship in a much deeper, more noble sense of the word. Malfoy noticed it too, and tucked it away for future reference. Though no one would have guessed it, just by looking at him and the general way he acted, Malfoy was almost as observant as Hermione, maybe even more so when it came to certain subjects (after all, it's impossible to pick on somebody when you can't tell what their vulnerable spot is). Malfoy was used to registering even the slightest change in facial expression, having grown up among the upper class, where the slightest twinge of an eyebrow could register extreme levels of hatred and distaste coursing through a nobleman's veins. He may well have been more observant than Hermione, when it came to certain things... after all, though she noticed almost everything around her, Hermione had never been an extrovert, and the feelings of others were sometimes an afterthought for her.

Jenn'el turned to Snape and said, " Would you show them their rooms? I hate to rush them out, but we're taking off, so-"

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but Lupin suddenly said, " Hey, wait. Let's let them watch the takeoff from in here. I'm sure they'll be no trouble."

" If you'll let me see how this ship works," Seamus said gravely, " I won't say a thing."

Jenn'el shrugged. " Alright. It may be better than having them in the steamworks and cogworks of this ship... not so many chances to hurt anything on this ship. The steamworks and cogworks- especially the cogworks- become very dangerous places when the ship is taking off. More than one goblin has been killed when they slip and fall into the gears- or get baked alive by the steam." Turning to her men, she shouted, " Alright then! You know the drill! Begin preparations for takeoff! Code lines 5-5-5-0-9-1 Hundred! All Navigators, please announce we are leaving!"

At this, two of the Goblins in the middle position began typing furiously, deleting, rearranging, and changing lines of code to prepare the ship for takeoff. A great sound, as of many gears beginning to whine, rose throughout the ship. The very earth and sky itself seemed to rumble. Power, sheer unbridled power, began to groan throughout the ship, and the metal floor of the command room rumbled.

" Ah!" Parvati said, stumbling over. Ron caught her as the ship began to shake more violently. " Whoa! It's like being on one of Hagrid's boats after he's been busy drinking for a few days!"

Cho, Harry, and several others fought to keep their footing, and Jenn'el was privately amused by their antics. Ernie, with the heavy experience of a fat man at moving his own weight around, shifted his bulk lower, and so kept his footing stable. Neville managed the trick to, after a bit of trying, and used the heavy end of his hammer to keep him on the floor. Malfoy fell over and nearly knocked himself out on the floor, but Neville caught him and pulled him up.

" Might want to keep your footing a bit more stable, Malfoy," Neville said, his eyes fluttering as sudden sickness overtook him.

" I"m fine," Malfoy said, quickly jerking his robe back and working to maintain a standing position on the ship. He soon fell over as well.

Seamus alone managed to keep his footing, and he kept it almost perfectly- as if he had been born to do this. Seamus closed his eyes, ignorant of his falling comrades all around him, and lifted his face up, feeling the incredible power of the ship beginning to operate at full power. It trembled in his body, throbbed in his heart, rushed through his veins. He felt his soul leap as he felt, actually _felt_, the moment of takeoff, like some great bird lifting wing and flying.

He thought he could fall in love with this ship. Hell, he thought that he _had_ fallen in love with this ship.

A hiss of steam was heard somewhere, and suddenly the ship began to rise- not slowly, not quickly, but somewhere in between.

" We're flying," Parvati said, wonder in her voice.

" It's nothing you couldn't do with a broomstick," Malfoy said sneeringly.

" Can your broomstick hold as many people as this ship?" Harry said, and Malfoy shut up. As the ship rose, all eyes turned to the Navigator's console.

" Hold on a minute," Jenn'el said. " Scanners, Navigators, program 3-9-9-8, C-D-F."

The Navigators sat for a moment as the Scanners input a few furious lines of code, then moved their hands in an arcane way. Soon, the room shifted, the frontal plate becoming opaque...

And the floor began to open up beneath them. Parvati actually screamed a bit before realizing that it was just an illusion. But it seemed so real...

The world of England was dropping away below them. As they rose, Hogwarts soon became visible, and more and more of the school appeared in their line of sight as they rose up and up and up into the far away blue sky. As the ship rose to a staggering height, it could be seen that nearly every eye in Hogwarts was on them. The only eye that could not be seen, Dumbledore's, was well hidden in shadow.

And as the ship began to turn, to head to its next destination, the floor eventually faded out, to be replaced by the metal flooring that had been there all along. The interior mirror turned clear again, and the Navigators began their work again, Scanners typing in code to change that which had already been shifted back to its original program. As the children got up and looked around themselves, Jenn'el turned back to face them.

" Mr. Snape, would you show our guests their rooms?"

Snape nodded and turned to face the awestruck children. " Follow me," he said, his eyes untouched by beauty.

Still stunned by the experience, which had been somewhat less exhilirating than broomstick flight and yet somehow greater at the same time, the children followed him.

The door whispered as it shut.

- R & R please!


	7. The First Night

Hey everyone. Thanks for reviews! And now...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Seven

The First Night

The airship _Excelsior_, fourth day of Hogwarts classes.

Snape walked through the steam and goblin riddled inside of the ship, with the nine following him while still gazing about the inside of the ship. Each new thing brought small gasps of delight from the crew, with the exception of Malfoy (who though himself too good to be fascinated by the ship... or at the very least, too good to show it) and Seamus (who merely smiled, like a child who's found their place after long, long days of searching, a little heartbroken child who's found home). With their delighted faces behind him, Snape looked even more dour than usual to the goblins. Speaking in their own tongue, they'd had time to call the strangely sour Slytherin Head many names over the past few days, when Snape had first been introduced to the crew and was given the rank of "tutor" to the nine who would be coming on board. The _Excelsior_'s crew had not really felt much of anything for Snape (their attention being turned to the much more vast ranks of their own kind, and the squabbles thereof), but his extremely sour, " You are an idiot and I know it" look was the source of many goblin jokes, some of them of a peculiarly nasty strain, one unique to goblins, almost like a bacteria whose sole inhabitable host was the goblins and their humor. Famously filthy creatures when it came to their sense of humor, Goblins were renowned among Wizards as the "inventors of the metaphorical gutter", as Dumbledore himself had said, once, in a press conference with some of the Daily Prophet's reporters, when they'd asked him what his opinion on the goblin race was. A big fan of their storytelling, Dumbledore honestly liked them- but he wasn't too far off the point when he made his jest. Goblins were pretty dirty creatures, in that respect at least.

As the group of nine walked through the halls, the goblins saying their invisible (to the party) jokes all around them, they eventually came to a door. Snape rapped on it once, just as he had with the first door they'd went through. It opened just as smoothly and just as silently- and a strange turning sound, before just a background noise, became a huge and tangible thing. Seamus, his mind suddenly lighting up with some creative fire, some burning appolonian heat, pushed his way to the front of the group, as they all walked in, single file, into the room whose name had been spoken in Seamus' hearing only a few times, the name he had loved at first sound: the cogworks.

Above them, huge, vast, incomprehensible, big beyond big and seeming to float in midair like heavy weights suspended in space, great cogs turned, in a million shapes and sizes, of a thousand colors and metals, all of them working together, all of them twisting and turning to the sound of hiss and sigh, the sound of the arrythmic heartbeat of the steamworks nearby. As a few small pipes carried the tremendous heat of the steamworks into this room, the cogs turned, pushed and pulled by the power of steam and metal, swaying slightly on the great metal supports that held them up, only their incredible size giving lie to the fact that they were not completely, totally still on their raised platforms, so high above the party. As Seamus' eyes (which at first seemed to cloud over and just see them, see them once and for all as the final be-all end-all of his life, and tremble slightly as it beheld this vision of greatness and beauty) adjusted to the sight of the ground below him, he noticed they were on a walkway much like the one that had traversed the steamworks. As the steamworks had been manned by goblins on ladders, so was the cogworks- but the ladders were now attached the great pedestals that held up the cogs, some crisscrossing horizontally the great distances between pedestals, and on all of these goblins moved in pre-arranged shifts. Unlike the steamworks, though, no one hear was eating danishes or drinking coffee. The cogs, so much more powerful than the steamworks that powered them, were not a place to fool around with. One gear here weighed more than all the goblins in the same place put together, and a single mishap or slip could kill everyone involved. Some goblins walked the ladders without hands- others without feet. Most had a full complement of fingers and toes on the appendages that did remain, however, because the gears here were so big that they never took anything less than the full thing. The goblins here looked calmer than the goblins in the steamworks, and acted considerably more cautious. Seamus, in full and exquisite rapture, merely stared about the room like an idiot until Ernie tapped him on the shoulder. When forcibly woken from his reverie, Seamus snapped back to attention and said, " What?" His voice was gruff and grouchy.

Realizing from Seamus' voice (and the way he'd been acting) Ernie decided to take the nice guy approach. Ernie pointed ahead of them on the walkway. " The cogworks is a very beautiful sight, Seamus, but the group's losing us. Come on, man."

Seamus nodded and began following the group. Ernie shook his head and followed him. Truth be told, Ernie didn't think the cogworks were anything special; but he didn't want to hear Snape or Lupin complaining about how one of them was irresponsible and couldn't even follow them. Lupin probably wouldn't complain too much, but Snape was quite the royal pain in the ass, and Ernie would be more than happy to not listen to one of the grouchy Potions teacher's lengthy sermons. Sighing and following the considerably smaller mass of Seamus with his own bulky body, Ernie caught up to the group just as they were leaving the cogworks to enter a large, strangely round room in the middle of the blackness and vastness that spun on and on around them. It was supported by the single biggest pedestal in the room. Ernie, shaking his head at the weird sight of this brown ball in the middle of nowhere (that was the feeling he got from the cogworks, he decided; that feeling of nowhere, of being in the middle of vastness, and what with all the dark spaces in between the lighted pedestals and cogs, the place felt like it was even more ridiculously large than it probably was) walked in the door Snape had opened a few moments ago, the walkway terminating at its beginning. Unlike the rest of the room, which was brown (with the exception of a few small, gentle dull orange lights that came from no discernable source and illuminated the great cog-wheels as they turned, along with the pedestals they sat on), the floor inside the door was green. Stepping onto it, Ernie felt a measure of strangeness when he realized that what he was standing on was essentially a mat, much like the ones used in martial arts dojos all around the world where falling and getting tossed around were everyday occurences. Wondering at this, Ernie walked across the spongy material to where the group stood, a little farther down in what was clearly a small hallway. Past it, Ernie could just see what looked like a very large, open room. Next to him, on both sides, were wooden doors. A quick count revealed to Ernie that there were about nine of them, maybe a few more.

Hermione, who'd already counted the doors, seen the large space past them, and figured out what they all meant within seconds of walking in, ignored Ernie's slightly mumbled " So this is where we sleep, eh?" which hadn't been directed at her but rather towards himself. Ron, who had no idea what was going on and only thought the thing under his feet was really spongy, looked around, startled, and said, " Really, mate?"

Ernie nodded. " Aye. This is where we'll be sleepin'. See the doors? That'll be our rooms, I suppose."

Ron nodded his head. " Well. Bloody hell! I suppose so."

Ernie smirked. " Thanks."

" If you are done ruminating," Snape said disapprovingly, cutting their conversation in two, " allow me to explain to the rest of the group what this place is. For the next several days," Snape said, clearing his throat slightly as if to get rid of any moisture that could possibly ruin his desert-dry voice, " this is where we will stay. As Mr. MacMillan and Mr. Weasley have so kindly pointed out, this," Snape indicated the rooms about them with his hand, " is where you will be staying. I and Mr. Lupin," Snape pointed at his cohort, who stood by peacefully smiling, " will be down there, on the other end of the training room." Snape pointed behind him, stretching his arm out and slightly turning, eyes never leaving the group as his finger stretched out. " I have orders to train all of you in the fighting arts. Though at school we were forbidden from wielding any weapon other than wands save in the Weapon Arts class, here we are allowed to wield whatever weapon we prefer. Since I personally prefer a sword, and because swords are the most complicated weapons to master, I will be handling sword training almost exclusively. That means that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy will be practicing under me."

Draco's eyebrows lowered in a sign of displeasure, and Ron emitted one of his famous "Bloody hell!" oaths under his breath.

" I will also be training Ms. Chang in archery, which Lupin has a marked... _distaste_ for." Snape showed one of his tight, grim smiles, and Harry guessed that Snape had let loose with the understatement of the year; Lupin must have been absolutely horrific at archery for Snape to make a statement like that. Not one to bash fellow teachers (or ex-teachers), even ones he didn't like, for small reasons, Snape often used understatement and calm, emotionless delivery to send his arrows home. Harry found the results rather unfunny. He guessed that if that sort of thing was your cup of tea, it was fine; but his own sense of humor tended more towards the happier, gentler things. He liked Chocolate Frogs, for one thing. To him, a hopping chocolate frog was funny in its own right.

" You could say that," Lupin said cheerfully, not put off in the least, " and with the exceptions of swordsmanship and archery, which are Mr. Snape's exclusive domains, I'll be handling all other weapon training. I understand that you, Harry, don't wield any weapon...?" Lupin trailed off, seeking an answer.

Harry shook his head. " No," he answered. " Just my fists and my feet. That's all."

Lupin nodded, smiling all the way, secretly pleased with this. " If you must know," he said, " my style's almost the same as yours." From a back pocket of his brown trenchcoat Lupin pulled out what at first looked like a jungle of steel teeth, but then solidified in Harry's vision as a pair of great battle-claws, apparently worn on the hands like gloves and used to slash enemies. " It probably has something to do with my being a werewolf," Lupin said, smiling, " but I just love to slash people up. I could probably get a spare set for you..."

Harry shook his head. " No thanks. I just want to use my hands." Doubt struck him, suddenly. Could his hands punch through armor? Claws might come in handy on a foe like that...

Ron, as if in echo of Harry's unspoken worry, looked at him and said, " But Harry, what about armor? You can't punch through steel, you know!"

Hermione piped up, voice immediately slipping into what Ron had privately named her "Miss Instructor" voice, and said, " Actually, he can. A Wizard trained in the martial arts can force their hand to become stronger than any material that could possibly be in front of them, through sheer force of will. It's been recorded, several times, that dragons who the greatest swords could not cut found themselves helpless against a single determined individual wielding their own fist. The same goes for the feet and their bodies. Although," she added, sounding slightly worried, " you could do with a little armor, Harry..."

Lupin nodded his head. " I'll provide armor for all of you later," he said, " when we begin training tomorrow. However, I need to know what weapons all of you wield. We heard from Dumbledore, and we've been watching you for the past half-hour or so, but I'd still like to hear it from your own lips. Who's first?"

A minute or two of silence passed, then Ernie spoke up and said, " Axe. I learned basic fighting techniques from my family- we've always lived by them, being lumberjacks up until the past few generations- and so I'm a pretty decent fighter."

Lupin nodded his head and said, " Oh, thanks for reminding me. Tell me your experience with the weapon, if you have any, so I know where to start training you. Next?"

Neville would have spoken up, but the embarassment he felt at not having any experience at all with his weapon of choice kept him from saying anything. He waited for someone to speak, anybody, when Seamus finally did.

" Spear. No previous experience."

" Good. Next?"

The answers began to come faster now, as the group felt more at ease announcing their almost universal lack of knowledge of combat with their weapons. " Staff. Some light practice with it, in a completely unrelated area of study... so no real practical experience." This was Hermione. She'd actually been thinking of stick fights she'd had with her cousins, back home during the summer, but then decided that that really didn't count, and so tagged on the line about "no real practical experience." One of Hermione's problems was a severe tendency to overstate things, or to at least explain them in the most complicated manner possible.

" Whip." This was Parvati. " Umm... no experience?" This last was almost a question, as if she expected to get asked about it. She seemed almost embarassed by it (understandable, given her mishap in the Godric's Hope armory). When Lupin just nodded his head, she was visibly relieved.

" Hammer." Neville finally broke in, Parvati's nervousness not making him feel as ashamed as he was. " No experience."

" Next?"

" Fists," Harry said, though he really didn't need to. " One fight only." He grinned as he said this and steadfastly ignored Draco's sudden glare at him.

" Sword." Ron said. " No experience at all, Lupin."

Lupin chuckled and said, " Tell Snape, not me. He's running that particular show."

" Oh." Ron seemed very disheartened at this news.

" Bow and arrow," Cho Chang spoke up. " No experience."

" Rapier," Malfoy said. " I've been trained by my family. We've wielded this weapon for generations. My style is the _Arte de Rapiere el Malfoye_, an ancient line of tradition passed down for generations in my family. I've trained with it for years." This impressive sounding statement did not have the effect he was hoping for; Lupin merely nodded and said, again, " Next?" Even worse, behind him, Malfoy heard Ron say, " Didn't help you a damn bit, though, did it?" and Harry snicker. Rage flooded through him, and he almost visibly trembled with it- though no one noticed, save Hermione, who dismissed it as the logical next step after Harry and Ron's little dialogue.

Seeing that everyone had spoken up, Lupin turned and said, " Alright, Snape, let's get them to bed. It's going to be a long day tomorrow, and they need all the strength they can get." Turning and yawning, Lupin said, " See ya all tomorrow." As he walked off, scratching his head, Snape looked at them and said, " You may choose your own rooms. I do not want a fight breaking out over where you will sleep here - it would most displease me for you to act like five-year-olds when you are all grown-ups now... or so I am assuming, from the trust Dumbledore has placed in each of you." This cold pronouncement out, Snape turned and walked off as well. The group turned to Harry, who shrugged and said, " I'm taking this one here. You guys sleep where you want- I suspect that we all really will need it, come tomorrow."

As they moved to their bunks, Snape's statement a reminder to be on their "best behaviour", the nine said nothing to each other, merely went to bed, minds whirling with a million different thoughts.

Seamus, entering his room, thought that now, at last, he was free. He went to bed with his spear on the wall next to him, laying down and simply feeling the great force of the ship as it flew through the air. The rhythmic pulse rocked him to sleep soon afterwards, like a babe in its mother's arms. He was tired- but happy. So happy.

To be free. To be, finally, on his own, striking out where no one could cause him to do anything contrary to his own wishes. Free to live- and die- as he so choosed.

Hermione, who occupied the next half-hour of her life by staring at an endlessly fascinatiing whirling machine she could just barely glimpse above her, past the ceiling of her room (the entire room was made of grey metal, the floor and walls solid, the ceiling made like a checkerboard with square chunks missing at regular intervals- it was through one of these that Hermione glimpsed the "whirlybird", as she called it) then fell asleep, small bag beside her. She briefly wondered what they were going to do about clothing, but guessed that Dumbledore had taken care of it. Dumbledore almost always thought of everything. Staring at the whirling machine and trying to guess what it could possibly be for (its purpose was pretty simple- it was the Goblin equivalent of an air conditioner), she finally felt herself getting drowsy. Before she slept, she briefly wondered how slow they were going if they would reach Scotland in "a few days"... normally, it shouldn't take even a few minutes.... but dismissed it as Lupin's attempt to allow them a few days to train before finding the first Spirit. Grateful for the time to practice, Hermione finally did manage to sleep.

Ron, for his part, pretty much passed out as soon as he hit his pillow. Not one to waste time, he slept almost immediately upon entering his room. He spared only enough time to think one disgruntled thought about being under bloody Snape's command, then slept. Of the characters, Ron was the one who thought the least about being "free"; he had thought before his release that he was pretty much the same person whether he was free or not, and the freedom had not changed that one bit. Free or not, he would still strive to be a good man and a loyal friend. Nothing had changed, really, save his place of living.

Neville put in long hours of work, lifting his hammer and putting it down, cursing the weakness in his muscles before he finally became too tired to go on and fell asleep. He fell asleep cursing himself, hammer laid far away from his bed, near the door.

Ernie thought long and hard about his decision to be free, then decided that it had been the right thing to do. The idea of freedom had not penetrated the others yet (with the exception of Seamus) but it had gottne very far in Ernie's head, and he mulled it over as he lay on his bed, thinking.

_So I'm free now, huh...._ _and on a quest to save the world, no less. I guess it's a great and noble thing... I guess its a great and noble _opportunity_, but for some reason it hasn't really sunk in yet. Or... it's just not having the effect I'd hoped it would. I'd hoped to have these feelings of greatness, of joy, of wonder, but... instead, everything seems to be kind of... quiet._

_But maybe that's right, too, _he thought, his mind taking the wandering and almost completely random paths it always did when he thought like this. _Maybe the secret of great quests isn't feelings of nobility, of power. Maybe the secret of being good and doing good things isn't to expect to feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks all the time- oh, those things exist, and without them, good would be kind of dull-.... but what any being would kill for, and what we now have, what I'm experiencing right now, is a feeling of goodness, of deep, deep calm. A feeling that something is going right, no matter where it is. Something is turning out all right._

He looked up into the sky and smiled. _Yeah... though I have no idea what it is, something is turning out all right._ Axe on the wall by his bedside, he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Parvati entered her room and spent something close to an hour simply staring out the window, daydreaming madly. Then, excited and happy, she picked up her chain whip, fondling it for a little bit, admiring the weapon's sheer beauty. Then she put it down, turned into the covers, and promptly fell asleep. Her light snores betrayed a face shining with simple happiness.

She had no nightmares that night, something she thought of as nothing that day and would soon come to think of as the most precious of all things.

Cho Chang almost slept that night without tears. Then the thought of what Cedric might have thought of all this caused her to burst into tears again. Finally falling asleep, her face was an unhappy place, turned into an almost childlike frown- and a very disorganized, dislocated pout. Many people would have looked at her with sadness, but Draco would not. Better able to read people than anyone else, and a man who could almost always sense a kindred soul (or a subservient one), Draco would have looked at her and immediately recognized her as something else.

He would have seen her as going slightly insane. And the madness had nothing to do with grief, but rather her own attachment to that grief- which should have ended ages ago.

Draco, for his part, spent the better part of an hour fuming in his room and going over basic weapons practice, intending to use the _Arte de Rapiere el Malfoye_ to such a staggering extent that even Harry would be forced to acknowledge him master. That and that alone would restore his wounded Highland borne pride. Afterwards, he fell into a weary, fitful sleep, where his father called out to him, as he so often did in Malfoy's shattered dreams, and in the dark wonderland that was Malfoy's nightmares, he felt the disease come up to claim him.

Malfoy did not know it, but he had been always going slightly insane his entire life, raised by the nobility as he was, and in the stress of his teen years this insanity was increasing by leaps and bounds. Malfoy's mind was like a diseased land, a sick and festering world plagued by the corpses of his own dreams, his secret lusts and desires (one, a particularly shameful one that had driven him mad near the end of last year, involved Ginny Weasley- yes, Ginny Weasley, the bastard red-haired friend of Harry's sister, the fair-bodied nymph who haunted his dreams- and had driven him near mad, to the point where he'd actually contemplated rape more than once, when feeling particularly out of his mind) , the sickness that ran in his veins like blood. Sometimes, in fits of madness and rage, he cut himself with his sword, watching the blood swirl away in the bathrooms (he always did it in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, for the simple reason that no one ever came in there- and Myrtle, sensing as all ghosts can the souls of those near them, stayed away because of the sheer insanity she felt coming from him, as if he was bleeding and didn't know it, bleeding madness out into the very air itself), and feeling, as he always did, that he was draining the lands of sin and darkness in his mind- letting his rage flow out with his blood. Fixing it with a healing spell (which he'd become quite adept at over the years, patching his arms up when necessary), Malfoy would leave, taking his anger with him, and putting back the sharp chunk of rock he used to break his skin in the small space he'd reserved for it, should he ever need it again. Here, however, there was no rock, and certainly no room to place that rock in, so all his rage was building up.

Building... and building.

Harry, in his room, found himself pondering the events of the day. He was a man used to sudden and shocking changes in his life (if a man can get used to such a thing) but even to him, such a change in a day was a wee bit much to handle. He liked being a free man ("it comes with great perks, like an airship and a free round-the-world-trip," his sarcastic mind replied) and he even more enjoyed seeing Lupin again- and in a moment or two, he was going to slip off to talk to him- but something was bothering him. Why had Dumbledore acted so strange then? Why had he acted almost... fearful, of Harry and his decision not to wield a sword? What was wrong with him? Harry shook his head and thought. The feeling he'd had on the train with Hermione had come back. That feeling - that weird, half-heard half-felt feeling that what someone was saying was a lie. That masks were being held up, masks paraded before him, like some changeling whose face would not be revealed. At least...

Not yet...

Completely without realizing it, Harry rubbed his scar. He soon left to go find Lupin. He spent the entire night chatting with him, about old times, about Sirius, about James, about his mother....

It was a big step towards healing for him.

-

The airship _Excelsior_, first day of the journey, 12:00 p.m.

Harry awoke the next day to a nice, comforted feeling. He got up, stretched, and shook his head. Looking out his window, he saw a long field of clouds and birds, but no sun. Deciding that the sun must be over the level of his window, he got up and stretched, popping his knuckles over his head by interlacing them and pushing up, palms out. The resultant loud "crack" was loud and satisfying, so he stopped stretching and yawned once, heading towards the door. He stopped as he realized he was still in his bedclothes- or, more accurately, the clothes he'd been wearing yesterday when picked at the Gathering. Wondering what he was going to do about clothing (or if he should do anything at all), he looked about himself, and saw a drawer he knew had not been there last night. Opening its top, he found a nice, shiny new outfit for him. A set of robes, it seemed almost fancy, and very flashy to boot (the collar was red, the robes an almost shiny black, with gold trimmings and small ornamental red runes embroidering the ends of the sleeves on the outfit). Deciding that this was probably not his training clothes, Harry shut the drawer and looked in the next one.

In this one were several shirts, pants, and socks that were his size (he didn't bother trying them on; he took one look and knew they'd fit him) that were of obvious Muggle design; one even had "Nike" on it, which for some reason caused him to smile. The idea of wandering around, saving the world, and getting the babes, all while dressed up in Nike gear, seemed funny to him. Pushing the drawer back in, he checked the third one down, which was low enough to the ground that Harry had to bend to open it.

Inside was a pair of training clothing, that sort which is recognized world over no matter who is viewing it or what their culture is. There just seems to be an aura around training clothes; they look old and used, but durable and strong even in spite of that. Training clothing represents everything youth is: young, inexperienced, already battered and worn, but with the strength to go just one more round with the world. Harry, picking up the clothing and putting it on, put his own robes on his bed, in semi-neat folds (if anyone complained about his housekeeping, Harry would tell them that he had better things to do than make all his corners straight). As he walked outside, wearing a white, scuffed t-shirt that clung to his body and a pair of white pants that did the same (with the exception of the groin, which Harry was thankful for- it would be both embarassing and kind of "grody", as Dudley would have put it, to have one's pants exemplify one's parts), Harry bumped right into Seamus.

" Oh. Sorry, Seamus. Ready and awake?"

Seamus nodded. " Yeah. You?"

" Fine." Harry looked at Seamus and saw he was sporting the same outfit, though he was also packing a spear. " I see youv'e found your clothes already."

Seamus shrugged. " Just looked through the drawers- it's not rocket science, after all."

Harry, slightly off-put by this remark, said, " Yeah..."

Ron, walking out the door, looked at Harry and said, " Bloody hell, Harry! Where's my clothes? You've got yourself a new outfit and I'm still walking around in my bedclothes!"

Seamus merely looked at him, and Harry replied, " The drawer near your bed. Third one down. It'll have training clothes in it."

Ron opened his mouth and said, " Oh!" in a heavily stretched voice, as if just realizing something totally obvious (which he just had, Harry's mind thought) and went back inside. Soon, the rest of the nine were out, and everyone was ready. (No one noticed Neville was not present). Turning about, they headed en masse to the training room.

Inside, Lupin and Snape, also in white training uniforms, awaited them. Snape's dire look of sheer grimness made Ron's throat tighten, worrying over his future training with him. Cho, who for once was not busy thinking of Cedric, also found his look spooky with implication. Draco, who saw past the look to see that, though not entirely faked, it had been mulitplied by a great deal, merely took it all in stride, intending to prove his mastery of the rapier once and for all, and scare the hell out of Harry Potter with it. He might even kill him here and now. A fitting end, for the bastard boy.

Lupin, on the other hand, wore a smile, and the battle-claws he'd shown them yesterday. He was sitting on the floor, Indian style, unlike Snape, who was busy standing. On the floor in front of Lupin's crossed legs was a pile of assorted weapons ranging from a longbow to an executioner's axe- there was even a chain whip in there, piled on top of a broadsword with a spear laid over it. It had been neatly coiled, so as not to cause mess, but Harry saw little point in it as the entire pile was obviously very disorganized. As the eight approached them, a voice could be heard, huffing and puffing.

" Wait.... for me!..." Neville cried, running into the battle room while dragging his hammer with him. Stopping to catch his breath (and unceremoniously dumping his hammer headfirst to the ground), Neville cried out, " Why didn't you wake me! I don't want to be late to training!"

Lupin, from where he sat, looked up and said, " Neville? You can't train in those clothes."

Neville looked up and said, " Huh?"

" You can't train in those clothes," Lupin said, taking into account Neville's school robes, which he'd worn yesterday and not switched from. " You have to use training clothes."

" Training clothes?" Neville said, feeling both out of breath and extremely stupid. Draco's leering sneer, expected and far the worse for that, came at him, and Neville swallowed and choked as he spit out his next words. " Wh... Where are they?"

" Your room," Lupin said cheerfully. " The chest in the room. Third drawer down. Come back when you're done."

Feeling as if he'd made an ass of himself and that everyone was laughing at him, Neville skulked away, at first dragging his hammer with him and then realizing that he looked stupid while carrying it. He tried to lean it against the wall, but it fell, and it took him a few minutes to get it set up right. Afterward, feeling even more stupid and incoherent, he left to get his clothes on. He came back in a few minutes, grabbing his hammer and just dragging it along with him.

" So," Lupin said, " here we are. Now," he said, " your journey _really_ begins."

He smiled, showing his naturally sharper teeth. " It's training time!"

- R & R please!


	8. Day Of Training Part I: History Lesson

Hey people. Nothing here to say, save-

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Eight

The First Day of Training

Part I:

History Lesson

The ship _Excelsior_, first day of journey, 12:10 p.m.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen," Lupin said, " have a seat. Before we begin the actual training, I want to talk a little bit about what a weapon is and what a weapon does. I know this may sound kind of stupid-"

Seamus snorted, having thought the question "what does a weapon do?" the single dumbest thing he had ever heard in his life.

"-Thank you, Seamus," Lupin said dryly, and some of the group chuckled, Seamus smirking (he didn't mind being the center of attention, and it was nice to hear that a shot had flown home, that you had been heard by others, at the least), and when it died down, Lupin continued.

" -but as I was saying, it's actually rather important to know that. Weapons change magic. They change it in unusual and unpredictable ways. We have two things to do right now, both of which you would have done this year in Hogwarts; you would have found out your affinities in the magical realm and what each particular weapon does to those magical affinities."

Hermione raised her hand. Biting his inside cheek to keep from smiling, Lupin said, " Yes, Hermione? Don't raise your hand, just ask about it. We're all free men now."

" And free women," Parvati piped up unneccesarily.

" Yes," Snape said, his first comment of the day. Unlike everyone else (who had universally adopted Lupin's cross-legged sitting position, with the exception of Neville, who couldn't do it and ended up sitting in a kind of half-assed cross-legged position, and who was internally berating himself for looking like a "little kid playing with the adults" in the sick whiny voice that sometimes festered in his head, mostly when he was feeling sad or depressed or, most especially, when he was feeling not quite good enough, as he usually did), Snape was still standing. Harry privately wondered whether he had even moved half an inch. His legs didn't even seem to twitch as he stood there, unmovable, waiting.

" Well," Parvati said, turning her nose up, " he didn't include us."

" Actually, I did," Lupin said, chuckling. " When I say "men" or "Man", I usually mean all of humanity. Gender differences are completely unimportant. I could have called all of you "women" and I still would have meant all of you. It really doesn't matter what term you use, so long as you use it in a spirit that indicates perfect equality between all..." Suddenly laughing out loud, Lupin said, " You sound like James. He always wanted to include everybody in his talks, so he'd always say something like "people", "souls", "my fellow citizens", something like that. He was always saying something to include everyone. Once, when making a speech before a mixed group of goblins, elves, Wizards, and centaurs, me and Peter had sat outside, just to see what he was going to say. And he did literally indicate everyone. He burst out " EVERY PERSON HERE!" and we just laughed and laughed..." Wiping his eyes with memories of old friends gone by, Lupin said, " Ahh, but he was crazy. James was a great man, but he had his odd little quirks. One of them was him being a "hardcore inclusionist", as Peter called him. I always thought such things were unimportant, so long as one never actually gave them any importance in one's speech..." Perhaps remembering that James was dead now and Peter Pettigrew a monster, Lupin sobered up slightly, and said, " Ah, but that's unimportant. Anyway, Hermione, your question, if you haven't forgotten it by now?"

" No, I haven't," Hermione said, smiling. " My question is: What is an affinity? I've heard of them, and from what I understand it indicates a particular talent one has towards certain things. My understanding was it was much like what Muggles call a "knack" for something; it just happens to be born within you."

Lupin nodded. " That's a very good definition, Hermione, but not quite correct. An affinity is what we, in the Wizarding world, call a special ability in a certain art, a special skill that allows one to move far beyond one's contemporaries and do more and greater works than them in that particular area. An affinity can be likened to a special bond one has with a certain thing, be it Transfiguration magic, Divination magic, or a more specialized, narrow spectrum of magic, such as being able to manipulate the cold very well. Here, let me show you something." Lupin pointed at the ground and said something. A set of circles popped up, each inside the other. Strange designs and diagrams floated about them, and the circles were set up in a certain order- the biggest one swallowed up the one smaller than it, and the one swallowed by the biggest one swallowed up the one in it. It looked like nothing more than a series of ever-smaller rings. Harry thought he saw three in all. They were all phantasmal, as if ghostly, and Harry could see the floor through them.

" This is what we Wizards call a Dimensional Diagram," he said. " Now, there are many Dimensions past our own. There is, for example, a Spiritual Dimension where certain spirits reside, the elementals being the most familiar from that realm. There is even a Cybernetic Dimension that certain Wizards and Goblins can tap into, where- for no reason any of us can find out- certain program codes and data seem, for some reason, to have a life and soul all their own." Lupin pointed to a certain portion of the field and said something else. The biggest circle grew, became larger and more real, and lifted off the circle, spinning until it was vertical to the floor. Harry looked and, upon it, saw many designs, but one was central to it all. Inside a round hoop that looked as if it was made of ivory, a picture was represented- green earth, upon which a river flowed through the middle, a fire burning in the heart of the river (with nothing, apparently, to support it, but it burned nevertheless), and endless skies above.

" Now," he said, " this is the first Dimensional Diagram of the three. Each Dimension, for some reason, has exactly three "levels" of elemental power. First is this level, the "Fixed" level. The term "Fixed" merely refers to the fact that these are elements that are essential parts of this world; without them, this universe would literally not exist. These are the four common denominators from which all other things flow- with two exceptions, but we'll get to that later. Now, this does not mean that each can exist independent of the other; in fact, each element _must have_ the other three in order to exist. For Earth to be Earth, it must have Air to balance out by being solid, Fire to balance out by being stable, and Water to balance out by being fixed in its position. Each element requires the others to exist." He nodded and said, " These change from Dimension to Dimension, and are never the same each time. Oh, the various Dimensions have rough analogues to each of these- in the Spiritual Realm, for instance, Loyalty, an element there, works almost like Earth does in our realm- but they are never completely the same, and change each time. This is the level most work is centered upon, because it is both the most basic level, and the weakest. These powers do not cross over Dimensions, for the obvious reason that the very thing they base themselves upon does not exist in anything other than one Dimension, and for the most part, these powers are the most common ones you will find. These powers are somewhat weaker than the Mutable elements, and a _great_ deal weaker than the Cardinal elements."

" Cardinal elements?" Hermione said, fascinated by this speech. " What are those?"

" I'll get to that," Lupin said. " In the meantime, just remember that these are the most basic powers. They are also the most widespread, affinity wise. Most people fall into these four categories: Earth," and here he pointed at the green ground of the drawing with his finger," Water," he pointed at the river, " Fire," the flames, " or Air." He pointed to the sky.

" What's the difference?" Neville asked, before realizing that this was a completely idiotic question. About to amend it (to fit his _real_ original question, which would have read, " What are the differences, besides the obvious?"), he was caught off-guard by Seamus' reply.

" The difference between getting your hand burned or wet," Seamus replied dryly, with a roll of his eyes. The crowd chuckled.

Blushing furiously, Neville said, " I meant... besides the obvious, I mean!"

Lupin smiled and said, " Actually, Neville has a good point. There is much more to it than merely "getting burned or wet," as I believe Mr. Finnegan has put it. Each element has many different things attached to it, and fully half of Ministry research funding goes towards looking into these elements, but I think I can describe the most basic ones here. Now," he said, " let's start from the ground up. Earth."

Again, he pointed to it on the screen. The scene within the ivory hoop changed, and the green expanded to fill the circle, excluding the other three elements. " Earth is usually thought of as the "force of nuturing", or something like that, especially among Muggle based students of Alchemy, but that's completely wrong. Earth is the exact opposite. Earth is the element of Cruelty, and also the element of Pain. Anything that has ever hurt you in your life has been recorded by the Earth, and Earth delights in suffering. It is not, however, the element of self-inflicted pain; it is, instead, the element of pain inflicted on others, of sadism. I'm sure you've heard of survival of the fittest?"

The group nodded.

" Well, that sums up the nature of Earth in itself," Lupin said. " Many people believe that nature is this 'wonderful, beautiful thing'... but that's completely wrong. In real life, nature is a monster, a thing that eats its own children, that demands better and better of them, pushing them the whole while to come up with new and better forms of killing, or new and better forms of defense. Earth is a taskmaster, and she is a harsh mistress to serve."

Shocked completely into silence, most of the group merely nodded.

" Nature is the very epitome of Poison, of Toxicity, and is the one element that is completely devoid of healing spells of any kind. The Earth cannot heal. Oh, it can kill just fine- in fact, Earth has been known in many countries around the world as the "assassin's friend"- but it can not heal. And that, I guess, is about it on Earth. Earth is a scary element. Air can heal, by putting so much oxygen into the system that the cells speed up their work. Fire can heal, if the caster is willing to sacrifice some of their own health for it- Fire being, by nature, the element of self-sacrifice. Water, especially, heals well, being the element of Soothing and Kindness anyway. But Earth can not heal. It is the element of Force, of pushing things aside, of Size and Heaviness and immovable rock. It is also, perversely, the element of Growth, and only Earth magic can enhance or retard the natural abilities of a creature for any length of time. Earth is also the element of Willpower, of standiing one's ground, and has been from time to time used to increase the willpower of others. Earth is the element of Time, and only Earth magic can last for all time. Earth cannot be worn down. Now," he said, lecture over, " let's move on." The scene became a water-filled ocean, filled with gentle blue waves.

" Water," Lupin said. " is the element of Kindness. It is the element of Silence, and so Water magic can create cones of silence around oneself, or other Wizards, which can be helpful to either partially neutralize their spell-casting abilities or allow yourself to be totally quiet while sneaking about places one doesn't want to get caught in. Water is the element of Erosion, and so Water magic can wear down enchantments- with the exception of Earth and Cardinal Element enchantments, of course. Water is also the element of Immersion, and strong Water enchantments can completely bind other magics by enveloping them inside itself and basically drowning it, effectively enguling the enchantment with its own liquid mass. It is, lastly, the element of Charity, and the very nature of Water is to give without receiving. Some Water spells can literally be cast for forever, as they perform no drain whatsoever on the caster, unlike pretty much all other magic. Oddly, Water is also the element of Isolation, and some of the more powerful and sinister Water spells focus on causing the target to feel lonely, split off from the world, to the point of suicide and death."

The scene changed. A great fire sprung up, blazing out of control, covering the screen.

" Fire," the werewolf said, " is the element of Devouring. It is the element of Decay, of destruction without building up, and is the only element incapable of building anything at all. Fire magic cannot be used in a long-lasting enchantment, for the simple reason that Fire's very nature causes it to eat itself up when the enchantment is not being used. Fire is the element of Self-Sacrifice, and as I mentioned before, this can be used to give health to others by losing your own. This last also makes it the element of last-ditch bravery, and when all hope seems lost, it is the element that can kindle fires in the souls of men's hearts. It is the element that best represents those men who, in the final hour of their life, step forward, weapon in hand, to stand against enemies too numerous to defeat and too mighty to harm, and lets them give it one last try. Fire is the element of Madness, and the insane are always bound to it, in some way. Fire can enchant them and make them do the bidding of others, or drive them even madder, and make them forfeit all to stop the source of the flames. Fire is one of the elements of Illusion, and its power is the strength of Mirage- Fire can create completely false images that have no substance but look entirely real."

" Last one." The scene shifted to the great blue ever-lasting skies.

Parvati sighed. " It's pretty."

Lupin chuckled. " Yes, it is," he said. " Now, Air is the element of Fickleness, and it can change its mind in a heartbeat. The other elements are- relatively- reliable, and when cast correctly with no outside interference, they always work, but Air magic can sometimes fail entirely at random, through no fault of the casters, because the Air changes its mind often about things, and might simply decide not to work at all. Or it can work in random, unpredictable ways. Air is the element of Romance- not Love, mind you, but Romance, Love's youthful counterpart- and can be used to influence lust charms to work- or to falter. Air is the element of Treason, and loyalty can be sorely tested with its magic. Continuing an odd love of paradox that seems to work in all Fixed elements, Air is also the element of Persistance, and the will to go on can be heavily weakened or, more commonly, greatly increased with Air magic. It is, lastly, the element of Luck, and some of its more interesting powers can cause odd things to happen- when they work, that is."

" That's all for the Fixed elements. Now, on to the Mutable." As Lupin performed the magic that made the big circle disappear into space and cause the second of the three circles to raise up in its place, Harry spoke up.

" Hey, Lupin."

" Yes, Harry?"

" What do you mean by "element of?" Do these elements rule emotion or... do they decide things for us... or.... what?"

" No," Lupin said. " It merely means that the element can affect those things. It has no power over that thing per se, and affinities apparently have nothing to do with one's personality at all- some of the most loyal men in history had affinities for Air, for example- but it can be used to effect them. To get an idea... a stove can be used to cook food. Now, a fire could be used to cook that same food... but the oven does it so much better. That doesn't mean the stove completely rules the "power" of cooking food, it merely means that it "can" do it. So, you see, though the elements have the ability to affect things, in the end, the results depend less on the element and more on the person. A person who honestly thinks in their heart that they have many friends cannot be made lonely with Water magic. At most, he will feel slightly "disconnected" from his friends for a few days, then be back to normal again in no time. Our own choices matter more than others, Harry."

Harry nodded and, for no reason he himself could discern, breathed a sigh of relief.

" Now," Lupin said, " let's move on to the next and slightly more powerful group of elements. These are called "Mutable", as these elements are much harder to define then the four we just discussed, and in their nature are not "fixed" in position like the first four elements are- Earth is always Earth, for example, and plays one central role- that of stabilizer- to the rest of the universe, but these four elements can assume almost any role or definition they want. They have sometimes been called the random elements, as it seems that each and every day a new part of their nature is revealed. Here, let me show you."

The circle in the air glowed, and a square appeared on it, a square with silver trimming, and just looking at it, for some reason, made one think of happiness, instead of the almost somber aspect of the ivory circle that had portrayed the first four elements. Inside the square there seemed to be a strange, almost abstract picture, and Harry spent the longest staring at it until he finally figured out that the things inside it weren't pictures at all; it was colors, mere simple colors, plain, flat, but not boring, somehow. There were four colors in the square, each radiating outwards from the middle to cover exactly one-fourth of the square- one entire corner. The colors, in order from the upper-left corner of the square and going clockwise, were a cold-looking bluish white, a somber looking gray, a stolid and noble iron color, and finally, in the lower-left corner, a gray that was neither light nor dark. In fact, it seemed almost perfectly balanced between the two. The last odd thing Harry noticed was that a million small shapes and designs were drawn inside these plain 1/4 of a square colors, and each seemed different from its brother. They were so small and placed so closely they gave the illusion of a pure wall of color, when in reality it was many small shapes. Harry thought this interesting and continued looking around the painting.

Looking about outside it, he saw drawings there too. Beside the glowing, unreadable script that marked the outside borders of the circle, there were four drawings outside the corners of the sqaure. In the upper-left corner of the square was a picture of a wind-whipped artic wasteland; directly across from it, a picture of a great crooked lightning bolt, flashing towards the ground; below that, a great sword, pointing down, grip held by a mighty gauntlet; and finally, to the left of the sword, a disconcerting picture of a reaper blade and a farmer's hoe, crossed, like allied swords being touched together before a meeting. All in all, the picture was far less self-explanatory than the first one had been. After all, the Fixed elements had been mentioned time and time again; but the Mutable elements hadn't even been touched on. The group turned to Lupin, and he tapped the picture before continuing.

" There are four Mutable elements, just as there are four Fixed elements. The first one, here, is Cold," he pointed to the wasteland, " the second is Electricity," the thunderbolt, " the third is Metal," the great sword, " and the last has three names, two partially correct but only one all correct: the first two are Life and Death, respectively, and the last and true one is merely Existence. Each contains enormous power within them, and these powers are considerably stronger than the Fixed Elements. They are also far harder to use and learn. Unlike the Fixed Elements, which do not exist in any but one Dimension, these elements do cross over when Dimensions are breached- though their range of powers and effects change drastically each time. Existence, for example, becomes almost omnipotent in the Spiritual Dimension, while Electricity is far more powerful in the Cybernetic Dimension than it is in our world, though it is quite strong here, as you'll find out soon enough. Likewise, Cold and Metal change powers in various dimensions, though they never fully disappear or are extinguished by it. In our own world, of the four, Cold seems to have the most power. But, I'll explain that in a bit."

He pointed at the picture of the wasteland. " Cold," he said, " is unique among the elements, in that it is the only element that is negative in nature. In other words, every other element either produces energy as a by-product of what it does- a wave smashing into a castle, for instance, delivers kinetic energy upon impact- or is energy itself- Fire and Electricity being two prime examples. But Cold is the only element that actually drains energy instead of creating or producing it. It is the one element capable of draining energy out of anything- the energy might be contained or dispersed by other elements, sometimes, but Cold is the one element capable of reducing it to nothing."

" Wow," Harry said dryly. " I didn't know an ice floe had so much power."

Lupin chuckled. " Well," he said, " the Cold is about a lot more than just what we think of as "cold". Ice obviously fits into this category, but the Cold is also the element of any negative factor. The freezing winds that whip away body heat and energy like a child sipping it from a straw, the burning desert sun that bakes those below it alive and consumes their energy with tongues of flame... these all fit under the category "Cold", though the latter is obviously very _not_ cold, and the Cold was the name chosen simply because all of the more common forms of this element are reflected in spells that involve ice or snow. Now, one more thing. The Fixed elements have emotions attached to them that they can affect. The Mutable elements- with one exception- do not. Instead, they simply have a much broader range of natural things they have control over, and of course, more power in the greater area they control. As I just pointed out, the Cold has an enormous range of things and potential spells that fall under its general category list. Some of the other elements are even more powerful."

" The Cold has one more thing you need to be aware of: Cold is the element of vampires. Unlike all other undead, which rely on Existence spells to keep themselves in their state of undeath, vampires rely on Cold magic. That is why they drink blood- to satiate the need for energy that their Cold workings deprive them of."

Pointing to the great jagged lightning bolt, he said, " this is the element of Electricity. It is composed of only one thing, unlike Cold, but that one thing is everywhere. Electricity is omnipresent, my friends. Electricity is the element under which all psychic and mental powers fall under, because it is the interaction of the electricity within our minds- the electricity that runs our bodies- with the outside world that makes psychic abilities work. Someone skilled in this element's spells can force your mind to stop telling your heart to beat, and you will die right then, with no flashy fireworks or pretty colors, just a bad heart attack and a feeling that you can't breathe. They can stop your breathing by halting the interaction of synapse to synapse within your mind, telling your nose not to breathe and your lungs not to fill. They can even make you go blind. But, dangerous as these things are, the greatest power of Electricity is also the most obvious. A single lightning bolt has been the end of many a Wizard in the past, because lightning has one great characteristic: it destroys whatever spells or enchantments it connects with. The sole exception is Earth magic, because, as I said, nothing can ruin an Earth enchantment. But lightning not only breaks spells; it is one of the most foolproof ways of killing someone ever devised. One lightning bolt can cause a man to shatter into pieces. Beware if you meet someone skilled with this magic, for they are a dangerous foe, capable of slyly slitting your throat or hacking you apart with a sword, all with this one power."

Lecture over, Lupin pointed at the next element on his list, the sword. " Metal," he said, " is a powerful element in this dimension, because it is the element which rules over all weapons, even those made of other materials. Metal has been described as "pure Earth", because it takes all the good parts of Earth- willpower, ability to withstand Time, and most importantly of all, Growth- and leaves all the bad parts- cruetly and sadism, for example- behind. It is the one Mutable element that has emotions attached to it, and the greatest of them is Honor. Metal is the element of Honor, and the power of Metal is such that it cannot be used to weaken someone's honor, only to enhance it, to make it noble, and that last really is the best way to describe Metal: noble. Not noble in the corrupted sense of the word, but noble in the true sense of the word. Metal controls all powers relating to the Home or the Hearth, and it is the element most commonly associated with women- though that is, of course, changing, in these better times, when both men and women are staying at home with their children. Metal is the power of Defense, and one of the three elements of Illusion. It's power of Illusion is Reflection- it can cause an exact mirror image of something, whether imagined or real, and this image can actually come alive at times, though there is a heavy cost on the caster to perform such a spell. The one rule with this is that it must be something the user has seen in real life or in dreams, as it cannot create- it can only mimic. Metal is the element of noble combat, and of Order. It is also, lastly, the element associated with Arithmancy, and is a major part of all Arithmantic spells. You, I understand, are quite good at those spells, Hermione."

She looked up. " Yes, I am, Professor Lupin."

" Good." He smiled. " Some of the most powerful spells are Arithmantic in nature, Hermione. One such spell, used in another Dimension, almost destroyed a planet- it was called Meteor, if I am not mistaken. It was powerful enough to destroy an entire world... but enough of that. Last element."

Here he tapped the last figure, the reaper sickle and farmer's hoe crossed together, like old allies on a battlefield greeting each other. " This," he said, " is the single most terrifying of all powers. In our Dimension, it is the supreme element, surpassed only by the Cardinals in power. This element, which rules over both Life and Death, is Existence. As the symbol shows, it represents a merging of Life and Death into one. And, truth be told, they are one- Death is merely another stage in Life. We know now, due to our studies, that there is _something_ that continues on after Death... it is what we see as a ghost when that something doesn't leave. Where it goes, nobody knows. That question is the basis of every religion on the planet."

" How can you mix Life and Death?" Parvati asked. " They're complete opposites."

" No, they're not," Lupin said, raising his finger. " Didn't you just hear me? Death is merely a stage of Life, albeit a very odd and powerful stage. Existence rules over a host of things far too long to list- healing and sudden deaths being two of them- so I'll simply state the more important ones. All undead things, other than vampires, use this magic to sustain themselves. They use the Life side, oddly, to do it, however, and fear Death magics more than anything else. Death magics are the one thing that can truly bring down an undead being for good. Death magics are also the ones most commonly used to heal, as they can slay the infection or mutation ruthlessly, leaving the body itself untouched. Life magics are used to create new forms of life, and all beast trainers are required to learn them, to communicate with their animal in times of need. Life magics can be used to evolve oneself, and some Wizards even have heat pits, like a snake's, on their bodies, all from using Life magic to change themselves. Werewolves also use this magic when they- or should I say, _we_-" he added with a smirk, " transform."

He continued on, lecture mode set to "full". "All Potions are considered as being under Existence magic, as well as Divination. Divination uses the powers of Life to take a look at possible futures those lives will take, and use the ripples that each Death makes to determine whether a life will vanish, disappear- or conquer. Divination, might I add, is horribly unwieldy, because it is a magic that is all about possibility- not a magic about certain, sure-fire things, but rather about things that might be or could be. There is a story, oft-repeated and much told, about a Diviner who told a young man about the happy future he was going to have, the perfect wife he'd marry, the five kids he would father, and the various riches and rewards he'd earn in his life. That young man, confident that he'd have a perfect life, left and went drinking. He never stopped drinking until he reached the age of thirty-eight, when he died of liver disease, having never had that perfect wife, those five kids, or any riches and rewards beyond what he earned in drinking contests, at which he was only average, losing almost as much as he won. Because that Diviner told that young man he would be content in his life, that man lost the ambition he had to attain that perfect life- and so never got it, because the only reason he had acheived that life in the first place is because he had ambition, which the Diviner took out of him, completely by accident, when he told him about the future. That Diviner completely changed the course of that young man's life, simply by telling him what that course would be! The future is effected by many things, and even the greatest Diviners make but one or two true predictions in their lives, if that many. A few parts of the future are set in stone, but they are usually that way because of former events that were _not_ set in stone, so most of the future is still open at all times to change- until it's past, anyway."

Finally Lupin said something, and the circle spun and vanished beneath the floor. The last circle, the smallest of the three, sprung up, and suddenly Harry was treated to something new: instead of the usual circle with script in the outer edges, here was a picture, simple and clean, of one radiant thing: a star. Set against the vast blackness of space, a single great star shone, the only light visible, right in the heart of darkness.

" The Cardinal elements," Lupin said, " are composed of but two: Light and Darkness. They are the most powerful elements. They do not change when they cross Dimensions, and are the easiest tools to open up dimensional portals with.. Our knowledge is limited at best, but here is the famous descriptions given of them by their discoverer, the famous Radesknes Ghilt, who was an accomplished poet as well as a scholar:

_Light and Darkness seem to be_

_Two sides of a coin_

_And in many ways that's true._

_But still I cannot find_

_Where I left behind_

_All the reason that was left in me._

_By nature they should cancel out_

_Light devouring the dark_

_Black devouring the White_

_But instead they seem_

_To be _

_two unevenly match'd._

_Light is stronger, of that I'm sure_

_For nothing does seem to touch the heavenly hand._

_It has within it power beyond measure._

_Yet the power is kind, gentle, thorough,_

_capable of destroying a world at a blast,_

_or healing a child of a scratch._

_Darkness is weak, again I am sure_

_But somehow something is not right._

_Light is small, the power of a bomb_

_Held in the cup of your hand._

_Yet Darkness is huge, massive, gigantic_

_and somehow it is still the lesser._

_It contains the power to eat,_

_to consume as a glutton_

_and still it does not eat enough._

_And yet, though Light conquer Night_

_The two seem to have reached an agreement._

_For White in the Darkness_

_Has more power than White alone._

_And a Star in the Black_

_Has the strength to move the hearts of men._

_Still I do not understand_

_A million days comprehend_

_That all I've learned is nothing._

_Still, I am satisfied_

_To sit at the fireside_

_And watch others try and wait._

Following this rather unusual poem, Lupin said, " And really, that's about it. A few things the poem may not have made clear: Light is the ultimate weapon, the power of complete and total Destruction, and a single weak spell based in Light is capable of tearing through an entire room full of powerful people at once. It is also a very kind, gentle power, and is capable of healing any wound. It is the third and final element of Illusion, as well. Darkness is weaker, but it has the ability to devour magic, and can be used to regain strength by taking the power of others. It also has the ability to hide anything from anybody- with the exception of one gifted in Light. Also, one last thing: Light always defeats Darkness. Always. Even the most accomplished Wizard using Darkness based powers will find himself bested by an amateur using Light. Any questions?"

The group shook its head. Lupin stood up and turned to Snape.

" Well then, let's start the training proper, now that you have some background. We have plenty of time, so let's get to it!"

- Whew! Lenghty ass chapter. But! Don't worry, my friends- I am building up to something. The next few chapters will be all about the training, because I think it's important to read about real fighting in life anyway, and I wish to see how well I can do. Don't worry about the Element rules and laws and whatnot- those will be taken care of later, and I've added these to "flesh out" the world of Harry Potter, to indicate how simply deep magic would be, were it real, and a careful, scientific approach brought towards it. It would be like our study of biology, or physics, only far, far deeper, and infinitely more complex.

Read and review, please! And merry Christmas to all!

As Tiny Tim said, "God bless us, every one."


	9. Fist and Claw

Hey people. Glad you guys are reviewing- I love you! Now, to reviewers:

Mashimaromadness: Glad you're excited! The training starts now, so I hope you enjoy it.

Daimen Darkstar: Hmm... I'd love to use your work, and I congratulate you on creating such a work for the rest of us here on , but I must decline. Sadly, many of my "spells" have meaning beyond themselves, and I cannot use another's work for fear of ruining certain... 'effects' I require. Still, I thank you most humbly for your offer of support, and hope you continue reading.

Regina: Thanks for the congratulations. I'm really glad you liked my views of the elements. A small dissertion here... (every reader groans aloud as Silverlocke980 launches into one of his fabulous, forty-foot long speeches):

I always thought that the traditional views of the elements, though useful in their own way, were rather wrong. Or, even if not wrong, they _bored_ me- I mean, really, I can only hear about the "evil Fire" for so long before I begin dreaming of a world in which Fire is good. And I can only hear about "Mother Earth" for so long before getting the idea in my head that Mother Earth may be one mean bitch. Also, Darkness and Light never stuck out in my heads as properly portrayed, and so I created the poem at the end of the story for the purpose of illustrating those two elements. Make a mental note, children; those two elements will play a massive role in the lives of the characters. Suffice it to say that whenever the two elements are mentioned- _especially_ together- you should begin playing very close attention.

Take notes. It might help.

And, one last clue. I have the entirety of this story (mostly...) plotted out, and so I've planted a few "clues" here and there about the future of my story. In fact, I planted a major one in the last installment, one that plays a big role in Dr- (shuts himself up). Ahem. Anyway, you won't find it, but I will grant one hint- find what is not there.

And (yes, I know I said last clue, but this isn't important to the storyline anyway) look for a reference to my other Harry Potter story in this tale. It's easy to spot. I was stuck for a line, and then it occurred to me that it would be most... fitting, considering other things, to put that in there. To me, it's funnier than hell.

'Course, I'm the guy who invented the entire "Dark Harry" universe, so my sense of humor probably should not be trusted...

CastusAlbusCor: Hope you had a Merry Christmas, my friend. No, I'm not an artist (the reverse, actually; my drawings tend to look like someone gave a five year old cocaine and let them have at it with a pen), but I'm glad you think of me that way.

Well, that about wraps it up. So, without further ado, it's...

"SHOWTIME!"

CHAPTER NINE

PART 1

Fist and Claw

Training Room, on the ship _Excelsior_, first day of the journey, 1:10 p.m.

Lupin smiled and clapped his hands. " All right, ladies and gentlemen," he said, winking at Parvati, who decided to play along and merely lifted her nose up in the air preppily and said "hmph", " we will now begin actual training. Now, all of you have chosen to wield different weapons. That makes this slightly harder than it would be if you all had chosen the same weapon, or slightly similar versions of the same weapon..." Lupin trailed off, and shook his head. " But, I have a way to work around that. I have a spell that lets me duplicate myself-"

" Duplicate yourself?" Ron said, mouth gaping. " You can do that?"

" Duplicate myself," Lupin repeated, not put out in the least, " and create copies of myself that would do exactly what I would do in any given situation. They have full access to the entire store of my memories, and so will act as I would in any situation- or, here, train you, as I would, without any noticeable differences between the two. They are not, of course, exactly like me- in fact, these "shadows", as they are called, are often used in Divination studies to prove that the future is not set in stone, as two shadows, in the same situation, with the same memories, can sometimes do entirely different things- but they are close enough to work, and will be able to train you as well as I would have." Lupin stood up and spoke a few words of magic. The still-floating diagram of Light and Darkness- of a star in the weak black- disappeared, and Lupin spoke again, this time a spell he was using to multiply himself. And then the entire world swam around Lupin.

Harry stared at Lupin's shadow, amazed at what he was seeing occur there. Lupin's shadow seemed to move and twist about, and as Lupin continued chanting, the shadow grew and grew and grew. Finally, Lupin uttered a short, almost imperative command, and the shadow (which had ceased looking anything like Lupin and had turned into a massive, shapeless blob) suddenly straightened up and split into five perfectly formed Lupin's. The shadows, which were still without color and dark as night's velvet breast, stood at perfect attention, looking nothing like the slightly slouched, softly chanting Lupin, who stood still as his chant went on. The shadows, which stood up straight, were still connected to him at his feet, and they radiated outwards from him, like spokes on a wheel. The entire effect was eerie, and delighted Harry. It reminded him of a scene he'd witnessed in a Muggle movie once, one about a great big evil wizard who had assumed command of an army made entirely out of creatures of shadow (the Dursleys had not taken Harry to see it, of course; in his broken, beaten-down lifestyle, a movie was entirely out of the question. He'd seen it on the telly late one night when all the Dursleys were asleep; he'd crawled down out of his room to watch it in the living room). The scene had been almost exactly like this one, and Harry had always thought it had been ominous and kind of impressive looking. Realizing that being reminded of an evil wizard and being delighted about it was probably _not_ a good thing, Harry refocused his attention on Lupin and quelled the rebellious surge of his heart, the black tide that thought the shadows were wondrous things.

Lupin uttered a second command, and the shadows turned away from him (one of the weirdest things Harry had ever seen; his eyes didn't want to see them turn around, because it apparently went against everything he'd ever known about shadows, but they saw them do it anyway, and the report from his eyes to his brain was making his head swim) and walked away, forming a semi-circle seven feet behind Lupin, turning (again, an event that gave Harry a headache) and facing forward when they reached their pre-ordained spots. Lupin interrupted his chanting with another fierce command, and the shadows suddenly stood _up_.

Harry had never really considered the implications of dimension before. Not dimension in the big, capital D Dimension sense, as Lupin had just talked to them about; no, he had never really thought about dimension in the little d, we live in 3 dimensions sense of the word. According to mathematicians, matter had several dimensions it could take place in (height, width, depth, even time), but to Harry, that had always meant less than a childhood fairytale to him. Now, however, he saw, horrifically, that the damn mathematicians were right. There really _were _multiple dimensions.

And somehow, the dimensions were not meant to collide.

The two-dimensional shadows stood up, and when they did, Harry thought his eyes would burst. The shadows were completely flat, totally two-dimensional... which mean that they had no depth. His eyes kept expecting to see form there, shape there, something to indicate a certain... _roundness_ that he'd always seen that he never knew existed until he saw a being without it. When his eyes couldn't find depth, they then tried to look through the shadows- past them- beyond them into the wall that he just knew was there. And yet, his eyes couldn't see through them either; they were too solid, too real, too much there to see through. So his eyes went back to trying to see the roundness again. And this time when they failed, they simply went haywire. His eyes felt like they were running everywhere at once, like some mad chameleon given a dose of speed or poison that drove it temporarily insane and caused its eyes to scroll around madly, everywhere, all at once, seeing everything and nothing in an eyeblink. The sensation was giving him a splitting headache.

Yet, at the same time he shut his eyes to block out the horrid pain of seeing something in the 3-D world that was 2-D, he thought that, somehow, it was still one of the most enticing things he'd ever seen. Shadows. Moving, living, breathing shadows.

Fascinating.

Harry had shut his eyes for a few moments, then he heard Lupin utter a third harsh command, and when this order was barked, Harry opened his eyes. His eyes immediately went to one of the shadows, and began its third try to see whether he could see them or through them- and this time, his eyes reported back triumphantly that they could _see_ them, and not through them. The shadows were beginning to round out, to fill in all the right places and expand into the normal three dimensions. Within the first moment of filling (and that was the only way Harry could think of it; filling, like a speed-film of a child growing into its father's clothes- they are loose and baggy at first, but gently coalesce and push and grow until the skin is once more baggy and the child has to grow to fit them again, over and over again, until finally each shadow resembled Lupin, perfect replicas in black), Harry could stand to look at them without feeling as if he was going mad. The sensation was quite pleasurable, compared to the (literal) eyesore that the shadows had been before.

Lupin uttered one last command, and the shadows suddenly gained perfect, startling color. Unlike all the other actions, which had been slow and somewhat tedious for the shadows to perform, this was sudden, quick, and instantaneous. One instant the shadows were black, the next they were colored exactly like Lupin, the clothes white as white, the skin creamy pink. The oddest part, though, was the fact that each had actual eyebrows.

" Well...," Lupin said, running his hand over his own hairless forehead, " I kinda wanted to make them perfect, but then I thought that would be confusing, and then I thought that I might as well give into to my inner fantasies, and so I gave them eyebrows. These beautiful hairy lads will train Parvati," and here, with a suddennes that was shocking, a metal whip appeared in one shadow-Lupin's hand, " Neville," a massive hammer appeared in the fist of another Lupin, " Ernie," an axe, " Seamus," a spear, " and, finally, Hermione." A staff popped up in the hand of the last Shadow-Lupin. " Now, Hermione will train over there by the doorway to the hall, Seamus will train over there, in the middle of the far right wall, Neville will train over in the far right corner from the hall, Ernie will practice in the near right corner from the hallway, and Parvati will train in the middle of the room. Now, I leave you to your training."

Throughout it all the shadows had not moved an inch. Now, as if suddenly coming to life, each leaned back and raised its face to the sky. Stretching themselves, each shadow audibly yawned and popped its back, then lowered its head, and turned to its assigned "student". Heading forward, the shadows walked towards their pupils and began talking to them, leading them off to their various positions. Turning his head to watch them leave, Lupin looked back at his remaining pupils and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Snape broke in.

" I," he said, his voice dry and brittle, " will be taking Mrs. Weasley and Malfoy, and Ms. Chang, to the far left corner, where we will begin training. Because I don't believe in using magic to teach where I myself can be of assistance, we will train without benefit of shadows. Come with me, students." Walking off, a somewhat creepy figure in white ("_Can_ you be a creepy figure in white? I mean, isn't that against the rules or something?" Harry's mind inquired), Draco, Ron, and Cho followed him. Ron left with a look on his face that said, " Please, stab me now and end it. I'll give you the sword myself, _just end it_", while both Cho and Malfoy had remarkably calm expressions. Draco, in particular, was looking smug with himself. Harry thought he looked as if someone had just told him he was the king. Snorting and shaking his head in derision at Malfoy's antics, Harry turned to Lupin.

" So I guess I'm training with you?" Harry asked. Lupin nodded his head.

" Yeah. Alright, stand up. We'll start now. I assume, of course, that you still intend to use nothing but your fists and feet?"

Harry nodded. " Yeah. Still do."

Lupin smiled. " Good. Okay, first things first. A little lecture here... all my shadows should be giving different versions of this, but don't worry, it's short. All weapons are about one thing. That one thing is changing magic. A weapon is not so much worthwhile in its materials- assuming, of course, that they don't affect the magic in any way- they are about the way they change the magic the user is controlling through them. Whenever a mage wields a weapon, he isn't wielding a sword or an axe; he's wielding his own magic. The weapon acts as a funnel, a guide, a means of controlling and changing the magic in a way that the user themself can not."

Harry nodded, then realized what this implicated. " Then... what are martial arts about? There are no weapons in the martial arts..."

Lupin shook his head. " Correction. _You_ are the weapon in martial arts. That's why they take so long to learn, and why they are so devastating when learned correctly. Because you are the weapon, a martial artist's magic actually grows stronger as they learn their techniques- instead of simply learning proper responses to enemy attack and becoming more "powerful" by becoming more and more skilled with your weapon, a martial artist actually becomes stronger in all respects- skill, physical power, magical might, everything. Some martial artists actually live to be hundreds of years old, simply because they have grown so mighty from their art that they simply will not die. One random note- powerful people tend to live longer. The magic flowing in their veins preserves them, so to speak, and the natural decay of Time doesn't affect them like it does the rest of us. Also, powerful people are obviously harder to kill through more "direct" means, too, so they tend to live a while. Anyway, here's what you should know: as a martial artist, you have no limits on the kinds of skills and maneuvers you can perform. Your magic is wide-ranging and varied- there is much you can do with it, given time and practice enough. But, there is one balancer."

" What?" Harry asked.

" You," Lupin said simply. " Many martial artists spend years preparing themselves before undergoing any major change in their routine or before learning a new, more powerful skill. The reason is simple: in the martial arts, you have access to near unlimited power... and that power can rend you apart. A martial artist must be very careful not to use moves that channel more energy than their bodies can handle- some have literally blown themselves apart from using moves that required to much force for them to handle. That is why Wizard martial artists tend to have such exceptionally strong bodies- not just because of the physical requirements of their art, but because they require all that muscle and bulk just to contain the force of their power. It is a rather dangerous art to learn, Harry, but it is rewarding enough in its own right, in the end. Now," he said, breaking into a smile, " show me a stance."

" A what?" Harry said.

" A stance," Lupin said. " You know, like this." Lupin stepped into the classic kickboxer's pose. Harry nodded and assumed the pose he'd seen Dudley in, from time to time, as Dudley trained to be a boxer- hands high, held in fists, defending the face, feet spread apart.

" That is a good stance," Lupin said, nodding his head, " but there are weaknesses in it. First off, what if I kick you in the knee? How would you defend that?"

Harry shrugged. " I guess I'd move my knee."

Lupin nodded. " Good- one of the most common types of defenses is, simply, the dodge. Dodging is both good and bad, as it allows a blow to miss you entirely and is actually more tiring to the opponent then you blocking their blows would be. Nothing is quite so exhausting as having your punches hit empty air. It's also very infuriating- but more on that later. However... what if..."

Lupin suddenly moved. Harry tried to dodge, but felt Lupin's flat palm smack into his stomach. The blow was merely a light tap, and left a slight impression in Harry's training clothes.

" See?" Lupin said. " Most of the time, dodges are simply too slow to work. If a blow is aimed at a limb- your arms or your legs- or especially if it is aimed at your head, then you can usually dodge it, because it's easy to move those body parts out of the way. However, it is very hard to move the entirety of your body out of the way of an attack, and so dodges are best reserved for attacks that are not aiming for the vital organs. Now," he said, " let me tell you about stances. The boxing stance you are in is a stance developed in Europe. That is important for one reason- Europeans have never been fond of low attacks. Probably because the nobility and middle class were the ones most directly involved in the "art" of war, most European fighting martial arts are based around the head and upper body. Europeans are very fond of bashing your face in, and European martial arts- though generally not as quick as their Oriental and Middle Eastern counterparts- are heavily strength-based. Most people tend to mock European styles, but an important point to remember is simply that Europeans used a much wider variety of weapons at a much greater rate than Oriental peoples did. Also, European nobility had a somewhat skewed sense of honor that said what one could and could not do in combat, as compared to Eastern arts, which were developed by commoners who understood that in a fight, anything goes. So, let's see the good and bad points of the boxing stance."

Lupin drew out of his stance and walked around Harry. Harry, who wasn't for sure how to act, simply stayed where he was, somewhat nervously eyeing Lupin as he walked around him. He wondered briefly if Lupin was going to show him the weaknesses in the stance by whapping him on the head. When Lupin merely began talking about the weaknesses, Harry breathed a (inaudible) sigh of relief.

" The main good points of this stance," Lupin began, " are the way it allows you to defend your face and the positioning of your hands. That is also the main bad point of this stance. Boxing stances are not geared for blows to the stomach, they are not geared for kick attacks, and they are most certainly not prepared for grabs or throws. There are three basic types of martial art attack, though there are millions of combinations and variations- punches, kicks, and grabs/throws. Grabs and throws get lumped together because to even use a throw you must grab your opponent in the first place. Boxing takes only one of the three- punches- and trains exclusively in it, to the detriment of the other two. That is never a good thing! To be an effective fighter, you must train in all three types. It is all right if you favor one over the others- we all have personal preferences and abilities- but you must be at least decent in all of them to be a half effective fighter. Someone who can punch, kick, and grab somewhat well is far more dangerous than someone who can kick perfectly but punches and grabs horribly. The reason is all about _options_. In combat, you must know your options, pick between them, and utilize the most effective of them in a very short amount of time. That's what training is all about: learning your options and picking between them."

" Now," Lupin said, completing a circuit about Harry and again standing in front of him, " watch me." He slipped into a pose that put his left foot slightly out, his right foot back, and made his arms for two sides of a square, with his left pointing horizontally right at his stomach, palm down, while his right hand pointed upwards, palm towards his face.

" This stance, which I took off of hapkido and changed to suit my own purposes, is a much better and far more balanced stance to fight from," Lupin said. " It provides excellent blocking protection, and good movement. It also allows for a variety of attacks. Remember: a stance determines exactly what you can do at any given moment. You have no more options than your current stance allows! Remember that!"

Harry nodded. Lupin said, " Now, let's look at some weapons of the hand. The old battle of punches vs. kicks has been waged for a long time, but the truth is, neither is the obvious master, and both should be utilized by the true martial artist. Kicks are more powerful, since the leg mucles are bigger and stronger than the arm muscles are. However... the foot is not as malleable as the hand is. Truth is, there is only so much you can do with the foot, and most of it breaks down into effectively bashing your opponent into submission. Also, kicks are slower, and even the fastest kickers are not quick as quick as a good puncher. Punches are considerably weaker, and it is harder to aim low with them- sometimes, you actually have to drop to your knees to punch, and that's never a good thing- but the good point is that not only are they much quicker, the hands can be made to do many things, and so hand attacks are more varied and harder to counter than kick attacks. Each has its strength and weaknesses, and you must learn which one to use depending upon the situation and your opponent."

" Now, on to basics. The simplest of all hand positions is the fist, so we'll work on fist based attacks first. Here is a simple punch." Lupin let loose with a blistering fast punch, stopping when it was fully outstretched, using his left hand. " That is a jab. Jabs are weaker punches that are used to distract the enemy, set them up for bigger attacks, "test" them for weak spots, and to infuriate your opponent. Jabs are best used with your weak hand, as they are not meant to be strong, merely fast, and they require the most reach. In most stances, your weak hand is the forward hand, the one closest to your opponent, and that gives you reach. Reach is important- if you can't get to your opponent, you can't hurt him. It's also one thing that is slightly dangerous in the martial arts. You are always literally within arm's reach of your enemy- you can't use a long weapon to tell your foe "back off" simply because you are the weapon. Remember the range limitations of your style- try to get as close as you can as quickly as you can. Now, a stronger punch." Lupin's right hand swung out, and though Harry couldn't really see a difference between the two punches, he thought this one was a little slower. " This is simply a normal punch. Delivered with your strong hand, they are used to cause actual pain to an enemy, as opposed to jabs, which, while quick and annoying, generally do little actual damage unless aimed correctly. Punches are good for picking at higher targets, like the face and chest. A particularly good target is the neck, assuming you can get in under the chin- you can sometimes crush the enemy's throat that way. One note: do not aim for the mouth- the teeth will cut you and it is very painful."

" This," Lupin said, drawing his fist way back and letting loose with a massive, curving punch, " is what is known in the Americas as a "haymaker". They are slow, ridiculously unwieldy to use, and not generally seen in combat. However, they do have one thing to make you consider them: they are powerful attacks, and come in at an odd angle, making them perfect sneak attacks. If assaulting someone from behind, a haymaker is curved to the point where you can pound your enemy's temples and make them pass out from one blow. Haymakers should not be used in normal combat, as they are too slow, but in special situations, they can be useful. Smaller, faster versions, known as "hook" punches, can be used, and are good for angled attacks against the face, and for knocking an enemy's guard down. Since most punching blocks are designed for use against straight punches, the curving blows can often knock the block down or away from your intended target, and you can use a normal punch to finish them off."

Lupin's right hand changed to a flat, palm out design. " The palm of your hand," Lupin said, " is actually one of the most effective weapons you posess. A flat, quick blow with this weapon can knock opponent's backwards, shove them off their feet, or kill them. The best target is the nose. Shoving up and back into the enemy's nose will cause their nosebone to be shoved up into their brain, and this will kill them instantly."

They spent the entire day studying hand attacks. Lupin, recognizing in Harry a naturally fiery spirit, had decided that blocks and counter-attacks (which make up about half of all martial arts) would have to wait until tomorrow to be learned. At the moment, Harry was content to learn how to use his hands as lethal weapons.

When Harry went to bed that night, he promptly went to sleep after spending a few minutes massaging his aching biceps, and woke up the next morning entirely refreshed.

-Hope you liked this! Next chapter: Sword and Axe!


	10. Sword and Axe and Rapier and Whip

Hey everybody! It's the next chapter of Even a Serpent! This chapter, we not only see how Ernie is doing with his axe lessons, _and_ get a glimpse of whether Parvati has figured out how to whip effectively or not yet, but also get our first glimpse at what that lovely fellow we call Snape is doing to his students, with two short pieces on Ron the Swordsman and Cho the Archer! So (with an apology to Ron for making him train with Mr. Snape) let's get on with it!

REVIEWS:

CastusAlbusCor: Thank you for reviewing, and being so kind in describing me as an artist!

Crrot: Man oh man, I think you have just hit the absolute jackpot. You may have struck upon what may be the heart of my story- not the Spirits that bind them, or the destiny that guides them, but the changes that will result when the heroes of Hogwarts gather together again. Expect that some chapters from now. But ten points for viewing a story scene before it happens!

Flight of the Wild: Thanks for reviewing! And the dream thing is… creepy! (And this is from the guy who thinks that a murdering Harry Potter is cool…)

Kordolin: Oh, beware, my friend, beware… I've got one more chapter after this devoted to the training, so you may wish to skip! Little is important (if I do say so myself), but it is interesting…

Well, that's all of 'em. Just one more note: All of the training happens at pretty much the same time- each "vignette" will merely focus on a separate person in the same time period (first day of training). Harry had his own vignette devoted to him, partly because he's the main character (slash most famous guy, most familiar guy, book hero, and all that, though by the time I'm done with this, all nine- and I do mean all _nine_- characters will be heroes in everyone's heart) but also because martial arts is a passion of mine, and I do love it so. Hell, I like things to do with all weapons, so I'm really enjoying this chance to show my stuff and prove how wonderful all these weapons really were. So, with that done, it's...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 9

The First Day of Training

Part 2:

Sword and Axe and Rapier and Whip

Training Room, on the ship _Excelsior_, first day of the journey, 1:18 p.m.

Ernie walked off with his version of Lupin while listening to the end of Snape's "not using magic where I myself can be of assistance" speech and snorted aloud. His version of Lupin heard it and smiled.

" Rather arrogant old fellow, isn't he?" Shadow-Lupin said, smiling. " Snape always was the kind to try and one-up his fellow man. I, of course, " Lupin continued, raising his head and assuming a "saintly" expression, " am above all that."

Ernie chuckled.

" Absolutely," he said, rolling his eyes and hefting his executioner's axe. " Alright, so where do we start? I know the basics-"

" Show me, " Lupin said.

" What I know?" Ernie said, ever quick on the uptake. " Sure, just let me try this out a bit..."

Ernie stepped back and began rolling his muscles (what few he had; he was a bulky man, and though given nature's bounty to the heavy- sheer durability due to weight- he wasn't all that strong, and it had been some time since he'd hefted an axe for anything other than manual labor) and then bent down and touched his toes. Being somewhat fat, he couldn't quite do it- but as his grandfather (his combat teacher) had explained, that actually didn't mean one wasn't nimble. A fat man had an actual physical obstruction to touching his toes. He might be as limber as a willow tree, but if his gut was in the way, he simply couldn't touch his toes. Not discomfited in the least by his failure to touch his toes, Ernie merely spread his legs and continued warming up. He never had liked warming up, but he did like the fact that he could now move his muscles without creaks or cracks of protest echoing throughout him whenever he moved. Contrary to what he'd read in books, his muscles never felt "limber" or "loose"; instead, they merely felt normal, but slightly... relaxed. Yeah, that was it. Relaxed.

Relaxed. Nice word. Kinda made him sleepy. He congratulated himself for finding a way to describe how warming up made him feel and then proceeded to pat his arms down one last time, massaging newly awakened muscles. Thoroughly refreshed by his light warm-up, Ernie said, " So what do you wish me to do? I can run through stances and all, or I can simply go through a practice kata..."

" Kata?" Lupin asked, bemused. The shadow raised an eyebrow. " I didn't think you would even know that term, much less use it in a sentence."

" Ah, " Ernie said. " As I mentioned to my classmates earlier, my family is a line of lumberjacks. However, we have always been very intelligent people, if you'll forgive me a few high class airs here." Ernie smiled a little self-deprecatingly at this. " My great grandmother, in particular, loved words, and always wanted to find the best word to describe something she could find. For years, she has called the color red roja because she believes that the Spanish word for that color, in the feminine form, somehow fits that color better than the English word "red". Likewise, she met a passing Korean martial artist who taught her the word "kata". She fell in love with the word and began using it immediately, describing all our combat training with the word "kata". She even looked up the various ways it can be used." Ernie smirked again. " She really did love that word. " In fact, Ernie's great grandmother's love for the word had resulted in Ernie's ability to read kata-kana, a language designed to translate more traditional, image-based Japanese written characters into letters that could be more readily translated into other, phonetic based languages... but that was a story for another time.

" Anyway, " Ernie said, shrugging slightly, " what exactly do you want to see?"

Lupin thought for a moment, then smiled. " I wish to see nothing, " he said. " I want you to teach me."

" Hmm?" Ernie said, raising an eyebrow and looking at his teacher with an intrigued look on his face.

" Teach me how to fight with an axe, " Lupin said. " I think it would be interesting. And it would be an excellent chance to see how well you fight with the weapon."

Ernie nodded. " I think that would be excellent, too, " he said, before drawing up his axe and tapping it to the floor. " Okay, then, " he said, " I'll start the way my grandfather always started- with basics. The stances. "

Lupin nodded and merely watched.

" There are three that I know of, " Ernie said. " One is intended for attack. One is intended for longer battles. The last is a defensive position. The first, the attack position, is this one. It's called the High Stance or, as my grandfather always called it, the Killer's Stance." Though Lupin's face didn't change, Ernie knew that he'd probably raised a few eyebrows in there. " Don't worry. My grandfather always had a fancy way with words."

Ernie shifted to the position he'd shown Neville in Godric's Hope yesterday, on that fateful afternoon that had changed all their lives- axe slung over shoulder, feet slightly apart, weak foot leading. His body was slightly bladed towards Lupin, though not very much- the stance was not intended to keep the wielder alive. It was intended to murder

It was intended to kill.

" This stance, " Ernie said, " is designed to allow a warrior's strength to be completely focused on the axe and free the body to put all of its force into the swing. This way, the body is freed from having to support odd or awkward muscle structures because the entire body is relaxed, and until the swing is begun, there is no force moving on anything inside the body- the hands are light, grip relaxed, muscles lightly tensed. This makes a blow delivered from this stance to be far more powerful than blows from any other stance would be. There is a weakness, however."

" And that is?" Lupin asked, mildly pleased with his student for his expert conduct in describing his stance.

" Because there are no muscles in the body that are committed to anything else, the body is not prepared to dodge an enemy attack, " Ernie said. " Likewise, the body is poorly positioned to dodge an attack, because it is neither well-bladed nor is it made in such a way that an attack can be easily leaped, side-stepped, or otherwise dodged. Axes are not blocking tools, and the main defense of an axeman is a dodge; henceforth, the lack of an ability to dodge while in the Killer's Stance greatly weakens its power. Now," Ernie said, swinging his axe lightly, " the other main downfall is that there is but one way to strike while in the Killer's Stance: a straight-forward, down-swinging chop." Ernie finished and tapped the floor with the butt of his axe, returning to a normal standing position. " Any questions?"

" If you were attacked while in the Killer's Stance, what would you do?" Lupin asked. From the expression on his face, Lupin was quite impressed with Ernie's ability.

Ernie thought for a moment, bringing his free hand to his chin and scratching it, then saying, " I guess I'd do the only thing I could do: I'd fall."

" Fall?" Lupin said, raising an eyebrow.

" Fall, " Ernie affirmed. He demonstrated by putting his axe back on his shoulder and suddenly stumbling backwards, violently. His feet twisted and pivoted, and it was quite clear that he had no grace in what he was doing. Recovering (barely) from his ill-timed backwards leap, Ernie stood up and put his axe back, butt-first, to the ground. " The only thing I can think of to do is launch myself backwards, away from the attack, and hopefully get missed by accident when I leap. It would probably knock me down, and might even get me killed if I don't hurry along and get up, but it's the only thing I can think of at this time."

Lupin nodded. " We always called it the "Forward" stance at our school, but yes, otherwise, this is an accurate description of the stance. Even the backwards dodge has been described, though I think my teachers would have taken offense at your terming it a "fall"."

Ernie smiled. " Well, then, guess it's a good thing that they're not here, isn't it?"

Lupin smiled. " Of course. Now, the next stance?"

Ernie nodded. " The next stance is the main stance that I use in combat- or would use, I guess, considering I've never been in a fight with a weapon like this before. It's called the Fighting Stance, or, again as my grandfather called it, the Halberdier's Stance." Ernie shifted position so that his weak foot was aimed at Lupin and crooked his arms, gripping his axe close to him. His knees were slightly apart, and his body was turned towards Lupin. His hands were set on the middle of the axe, slightly apart, favoring neither end.

Ernie began instructing. " This stance is the most well-balanced of the three and does not favor either offense or defense. It can attack with both the bladed end of the axe for slashing and the blunt tip for poking. With but a simple move of my hands, " Ernie demonstrated, sliding his left hand up towards the right one, lengthening the staff towards the end, " I can focus more on striking with the blunt tip, and with another simple move of my hands, " he shifted his hands again, this time his right sliding down towards his left until both were farther down the staff, " I can focus on cutting with the sharp edge. With my hands in the middle, " and with this his hands returned to their former positions, " I can slash or strike with equal ease, though both will be slightly hampered. The stance does not have the raw power of the Killer's Stance, nor does it have the defensive ability of the Warrior's Stance."

" Warrior's Stance?" Lupin asked, eyebrow raised.

Ernie smiled. " The last stance, " Ernie said, " is based entirely on defense. It is the Defense Stance, or the Warrior's Stance, as my grandfather called it." Ernie shifted position and assumed the stance. His hands moved higher up the axe, which had been inverted, blade pointing towards the floor, which meant that his hands moved closer to the tip than they did to the edge. His feet became ramrod straight, angled out slightly, supporting him and putting his face and arms back slightly from any possible harm. His body was bladed almost violently towards Lupin, with little of his bulk showing.

" This stance, " Ernie instructed, " is designed to force attackers to watch where they are going, for it is a very quick, offensive stance designed for hard, sharp blows."

" If it is so offensive, " Lupin said, " then why is it used as a defensive stance?"

" Because the best defense is a good offense, " Ernie replied back. " An axeman is not fast, nor is he subtle. He can be both, but it is not what his weapon is designed for, and not what he is best at. An axe is a big, strong, loud, angry weapon. Henceforth, in defense, it is best to reverse the usual trick of weaponry- instead of being calm and subtle, as most weapons are when used for defense, axes are best used to roar and bash at an enemy, shoving them back with sheer might and using fear to push an enemy back. Most defense tactics for weaponry work simply on scaring your opponent into staying out of your reach and hoping that their fear will make them do something rash you can exploit. Axes aren't subtle weapons- but they are powerful ones." Ernie finished his display and bowed to Lupin. " Impressed?" Ernie had something of a self-conceited but somehow not arrogant smile on his face, like that which a friendly man would wear after winning a major contest- one that says "Yeah, I'm great, but I'm cool with it too" and lets you realize that this person is both exceedingly proud and rather humble at the same time.

" Most sincerely," Lupin said, and smiled. " Now, let's just go through basic exercises, and then I think we'll be done here..."

Across the room. That same day.

Snape said nothing as the party crossed the gym. As they went forth, Ron and Cho looked at each other a few times, but said nothing. Draco merely kept his hand on his rapier and waited.

" Mr. Snape, sir?" Cho finally said. " Where are we-"

" Ms. Chang, I would be most pleased if you would wait until we got there before saying anything."

Cho shut up.

Eventually, the quartet reached the far wall. Standing at the end of the dojo (which had suddenly gotten bigger; Ron freaked out when he noticed, but said nothing about the fact that Harry and the others had apparently become small dots seemingly miles away), Snape finally turned and addressed the group.

" We cannot," he said, voice as dry as always, " allow such illusions to delude our minds. Those with minds like Mr. Lupin," and here he gestured to the many shadows on the opposite end of the room, " do not realize the complications that arise when training does not involve a real partner, of flesh and blood." Turning to Ron, he said, "Mr. Weasley."

" Yes, Mr. Snape?" Ron fairly squeaked.

" What little you know of combat has been with wands. What have you learned in your time of combat?"

" Uh…" Ron started. " Umm... dodge incoming fire?" And this was true; whatever else could be said of Ron, he was an excellent dodger. Ducking had played a large role in his combat at the Ministry, for all the good it had done him in the end. All that had really happened had happened somewhere he had not even been, the Room of the Veil, where Bellatrix Lestrange had shown Sirius what lay beyond the veil. Sirius was dead, now; one could say he was just "behind the veil", but even such a euphemism, even when used by someone like Ron, who was always using little code-words for things that worried him or scared him, were just a way of dodging the truth, and all three friends had silently agreed to say that "He is dead" instead of "gone" or "behind the veil". Such directness made things easier; rougher, less coherent, and somewhat more brutal, it nevertheless became the binding glue that stored them up together. Sirius' memories were holy now, somehow, and we're made more so by speaking freely of his death.

The death of a good man was always a sad thing, but it at least made a few things noble. That was the good part about death to Ron, anyway.

Snape, who merely glanced at Ron dully from his heavy-set eyes, merely said, " It is apparent that Mr. Weasley requires extensive training on the concept that foreknowledge of combat is the key to victory. Mr. Malfoy, would you kindly explain to Mr. Weasley exactly what, if any, are the requirements for having thorough foreknowledge of battle before actually entering it?"

Draco actually was quite shocked at what Snape had just said; it was the exact wording that his father had used, long ago, to describe exactly what purpose training was supposed to fulfill. Shaking his head mildly at this odd re-occurence of one of his father's strangest phrases ever, Draco said, " Foreknowledge of combat is key to battle, because so much of it is instinct and reflex. Any combat involving any degree of danger is more likely to wound someone who is not competent in the ways of their weapon already through training then someone who has no actual training with a weapon. This is especially true for those who wield swords, such as myself and Snape." Ron noticed the pointed exclusion of him from this group of Draco and Snape. " Without it, we are no better off than if we had a club. Swords are the weapons of nobility, and require great training and forethought to use."

Ron blinked, thinking that if swords were the weapons of nobility, then he wished he hadn't picked up one. Then he wondered (on an odd note that had occured to him before and would occur to him again; it was the same wondering that often occured when he looked at a chess board, and it would only grow stronger as he traveled with his eight companions, the last of the nine on whom the world would so depend) why Snape had such a sword, or why he did not say something like, " But anyone can use a sword, Mr. Malfoy," with a faint tinge of disapproval in his voice.

" That, Mr. Weasley," Snape said dryly, " remains to be seen."

Ron gulped as Snape drew out his sword.

Parvati may have had the hardest time training, simply because the whip was a weapon that was so opposite in style to anything she had ever tried before. The whip would not obey her commands: she would try to lash it out and back, and it would go flailing around; she would try to make it flail around and it would lash out. Once or twice she almost received a very painful smack on the head when the whip was snapping back; only Shadow Lupin's quick grabs kept her from being hit with her own whip.

" Parvati," Lupin said, after grabbing the whip out of midair before it could smack her on her left cheek (Parvati never saw Lupin move; it was simply like his arm had become in midair a second before the whip did, and so was simply there to stop it, instead of actually having gone out of its way to grab the chain before impact), " this is no way to treat a whip."

Parvati sighed. " I know," she said. " But how can I actually use it instead of just flailing it about?"

Lupin smiled. " Actually, " he said, as she took the other end of her whip (her _bedamned_ whip, she thought sullenly), " flailing it about isn't so bad after all. In fact, I think we'll start there, and see how it goes."

" Huh?" Parvati said. " I thought flailing it about was a bad thing. I always wanted to..." She moved her hands ineffectively, slightly drawing out a circle with them. " You know... snap it. Crack it."

" Like this? " Lupin said, smiling.

Lupin's whip went sailing through the air with a massive _crack_ that seemed to boom in the massive training area. As his whip came back with fluid grace, Parvati sighed.

" Exactly, " she said. " I want to do that. "

Lupin smiled; his eyes lit up with jocularity, and she could tell he was near dancing on his feet. " Oh, " he said, eyes twinkling at her, " there's much more to it than that. "

He turned and lashed again, but this time he began spinning the whip on the end; he twisted it, turned it, and whirled it, and the end result made the whip seem almost alive, a snake of metal and steel, twisting and writhing almost as if it were possessed of its own knowledge. Parvati's jaw dropped as she admired the sheer dextrous _beauty_ of the thing. It shone in the light; it seemed to be beyond contemporary limits of time and space. It was everywhere at once, and nowhere. Parvati found herself admiring it without any reservations.

Her former feeling for her whip (which had begun to become dislike) evaporated and became true joy.

" How did you do that? " she asked Lupin, stars in her eyes. He smiled.

" Simple, " he said. " It's all in the wrist. "

As if to prove his point, he cracked his whip one more time.

" Now, " he said, " your turn!"

Ernie spent the night in a comfortable doze, his muscles busy re-acclimitizing his body to the rigors of axe work. He had only a few tangled, if pleasant, dreams- his usual sort.

Draco spent the entire night grinning his head off, thinking he had done some very impressive things in his "training" session with Ron. Ron had spent most of the session with his eyes bugged out of his head, just staring at Draco's proficiency with the sword. He fell asleep with a smile on, and dreamed nice dreams of power.

Ron used his first night to ponder over all the new information he'd gained, and wondering if he could ever match up to such skill. He practiced a few of the simpler maneuvers in his room in private, but he did it more to record them in his memory rather than actually practice more. He fell asleep soon and dreamed no dreams.

Parvati spent the rest of her day training like mad, and discovered that the reason she'd had such trouble was simply because the whip was not meant for brute force or using the bigger muscles of the body; it was meant to be a lazy weapon, almost, using the rolling of smaller muscles and the movements of slight twitches in the body to give it guidance. By the end of the day, she could flail fairly well, and actually could crack it extremely well- though that last was a little harder to do, since it involved both wrist flicks and bigger bicep/tricep movements- and she was reasonably happy about her progress. Lupin had wanted her to mix feet movements into her attacks, but she didn't want to move her body; it would have felt like sacrilege, to change her stance and let herself enter the combat, instead of letting the whip do all the fighting for her. She fell asleep quite happy, whip clenched in her fist.

She did that the second night too, which helped when the door got kicked in that night- but not much.

R and R please!


	11. Bow and Spear and Staff and Mace

Hey everybody! New chapter! This is the last training chapter- things get crazy after this! A Spirit, a madman, a plot, and a monster... and, of course, a knight...

Thank you to my reviewers! You've waited long enough, so I'll just write this damn chapter. :)

So! With that business finished, it's now...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 9

Part 3:

Bow and Spear and Staff and Mace

Training Room, on the ship _Excelsior_, first day of the journey, 1:18 p.m.

Neville merely stared while Lupin summoned the shadows, and afterwards, when they traveled to their various corners of the room, he merely stayed behind his shadow of Lupin, watching him, somehow nervously feeling afraid of this shadow-Lupin, like he couldn't quite trust him. Unaware of the intense scrutiny (and unconscious clenching of the fist about the handle of his mace) that was going on behind him, Shadow-Lupin merely walked to the corner and turned around. Neville, who had never been particularly quick on the uptake, actually stumbled for a moment as they stopped... but his very clumsiness saved him: Shadow-Lupin missed the implication in his eyes that he didn't trust him, missed the shifty, somewhat hating look that entered Neville's eyes whenever he glanced at Shadow-Lupin. It was something that would save many lives later. Nine lives, actually. Maybe two more, but most definitely nine.

Having noticed nothing wrong, Shadow-Lupin merely watched calmly as Neville swayed violently from his sudden stop and finally got himself righted. Smiling slightly, Shadow-Lupin said, " So, Neville, what do you know about combat?"

Neville shrugged, tried to say something, failed. He was quite bad at lying. Just talking to Shadow-Lupin made him feel... dirty.

Lupin chuckled. " Well, that's okay. Nobody else really knew much either... let's begin with basics." With that, Lupin launched into a complicated series of hammer attacks. Neville tried to follow suit, using the weapon's natural gravity and his own weight to increase the force of his blows. And...

As the session went on, Shadow-Lupin never really did notice that Neville had not said one word. He also never noticed that, whenever he was not looking, Neville cast him quick, dark glances. And none of them ever noticed the fact that their very lack of awareness was a key point of Neville's new life.

-

Same room, same time. Opposite end of room.

The first thing Snape did was launch into sword strikes and stances, making Ron and Draco learn by doing. Eventually picking ten he thought most helpful, he instructed them to repeat, then went on to Cho.

" Ms. Chang," he said, voice dry and cracked as a brittle twig, " we have a simpler task for you. In the distance, over there..." He pointed, and in the distance, a target arose. " Fire on that target."

" I, too, am an archer," Snape said. " It is the cleanest and the quickest way to kill or to fight. It is also," and Cho would swear she saw the ghost of a smile cross Snape's face, " one of the greater methods by which opponents may be bothered, disturbed, or spooked into running off. Now," he said, and drew a great longbow out of, quite literally, nowhere, " watch me shoot. See my stance, see my aim..."

Cho followed him in practice.

-

Same room, same time. Corner of room.

Seamus walked with his trainer, prepared to show him up. He almost lost the chance, too.

The teacher turned, and began talking to him. Seamus began arguing, hoping for a chance to get into a fight. He eventually switched tactics and stated that he thought a practice fight- nothing hard, just practice- would help him get into the swing of things.

And he woke up on his ass the next second later.

" Try again?" Lupin said, looking at him with his raised, mighty eyebrows. Seamus, mouth smiling but teeth actually clenched in rage, rose and began to fight again.

And he spent the rest of the day beating or alternatively (and far more often) getting beaten by Shadow Lupin...

-

Same room, same time. Different corner.

Hermione walked with Lupin, and her mouth moved rapidly as they talked and talked, and finally, she was ready to train. And she discovered that a staff was a really massive wand, and it had the added benefit of being a club. And whacking things in the face, though crude, was as effective as things got, really.

Hermione laughed as she began to train, staff moving in easy, swinging circles. And she never saw Shadow Lupin's eyes moving with her. They were attentive and watching, but not hungry. No.

They were calculating.

-

That night, all of them experienced feelings of great difference and vastness.Hermione was alternatively happy and tired as hell- she had never been a physical girl, exactly, but had considered herself as being in good shape. She'd been surprised at how tiring the training was. The staff was right next to her- she'd read enough books to know that a weapon far away was a sure path towards death.

Seamus was mostly pissed and pleased with himself and others- for beating and being beaten, he acted much like a small rooster whose cackles are up and fighting a bigger chicken. Happy to be fighting, angry to be losing.

Though on the whole, he was mostly happy. His spear slept with him, right next to the bed. He was pleased with it, pleased with his skill. He'd discovered himself as a impatient, exceptionally active fighter, and with a spear, he thought, he could be dangerous as hell. The fact that his spear stayed in easy reach was, as with Parvati, a surprisingly useful advantage the next night.

Neville was asleep and extremely happy. He'd discovered that behind the weight was a _lot _of power in his hammer- and he liked it. His baseball bat swings could kill, he thought, and he wasn't too much off from being wrong. And (he thought to himself) isn't that what counts? He slept with his mouth open, hammer on the floor. In a move that was much more characteristic of himself than he'd like to admit, Neville had propped the hammer up poorly, and it was rolling about on the ship's floor as it slowly went its way toward Loch Ness.

Cho was unluckiest, in a way. Bows are poor weapons at close range, as they are simply too slow to fire well. She had no feelings whatsoever for the small hand at archery she'd displayed under Snape's surprisingly gentle teaching- a teaching she had bothered to feel grateful for when, in the middle of her training, he'd turned to snap at Ron for some minor screw-up or another in his traditional dry, scary voice- and she was mostly tired and sleepy. Her bow was across her on the other side of the room, and her arrows were with her on the floor.

-

Second day of the journey. Night. _Excelsior_. 1:30 a.m.

The sound of a door being kicked in, unless you are a police officer, a drug dealer, or an exceptionally unlucky home owner, is not a sound one is used to, and is not a sound that can go unheard without some kind of reaction. The reaction of most of the nine was to snap awake, but the reactions they had after that were very, very different. What permeated them all, though, was the sheer evil that seemed to come from their attackers. These creatures were nightmares- or their close relatives, at any rate.

Harry awoke to the noise of someone busting in his room with no thought at first, but then something - _hit_ him, and he felt more evil and menace than he'd ever have thought existed come at him from the direction of the door. With but one new thought- _Voldemort!_- screaming through his mind, he leapt up, unconsciously kicking out, but his attacker dodged and he was thrown up to the wall, a rough, constricting hand on his throat. He fought back with his feet, kicking like mad at an attacker who felt like iron to his naked feet, and felt himself looking consciousness as he was choked.

Ron awoke to an enemy at his gates and immediately grabbed his sword's scabbard. He'd received instructions on cleaning his sword that day, and he'd left it out after oiling it to air-dry; he'd forgotten to put it back. Ron swung the scabbard in front of himself and cleanly stopped a blow that was aimed at his head, scabbard rattling as it received a blow. Kicking his feet out and spreading cover all over his opponent's field of view, he reached for his blade and fought back.

Seamus awoke before realizing what the noise actually was, and found his body, spear in hand, responding to the intrusion just as it had fought Lupin- short swings, quick pokes, lightning jabs. As his mind caught up to what he was doing, his enemy- black and nearly colorless in the low lighting of the room and the outer hallway the door breaker had come in through- stopped his spear with the same blocking motion that Lupin used with his spear, though this enemy fought with his hands. Seamus smiled and responded with the move he'd come up with earlier that night, as he contemplated what Lupin had done. He headbutted his opponent as hard as he could, sending him nigh to oblivion and out, stumbling, into the open hallway, tripping as he went over the doorway onto his back. Seamus struck down with his spear and felt flesh give as he pierced his opponent's form. He let out a battle yell that would have startled a wolfpack, and his opponent kicked at the spear embedded in its right leg as Seamus continued to jerk it around like an angler with a fish.

Parvati woke to battle with the weirdest of thoughts- _Who's knocking down the walls at this hour? All the older boys and girls know that you can't do _that_ at this hour without waking someone up!_- when she noticed that the door was being broken in. She yelped and grabbed her whip, her automatic reaction to flail her arms causing her chain to swing out and smack the enemy in the face just as he got in. He fell, and Parvati actually said " Sorry!" before realizing that anybody knocking your door down is not a friend in the first place- and then felt the evil, though to a lesser degree. It reminded her of the darkness of her vision, and that thought brought into memory the feeling of precognition, of preparing to receive visions, that she had felt before that terrifying vision of black tides smashing against white shores that were holding up the stars. And she started striking back, the enclosed space making whip cracks hard, but a flail could work, or maybe a grab...

She was slapped in the face by a hand just as her whip connected with feet and jerked. Both fell as blows met, but one's trip down was much harder. And it wasn't Parvati's.

Draco snapped awake when his door was smashed in, and his quick thinking saved his family jewels, since he was out of bed before a large foot smashed right where his crotch had been. Wondering if that was the sort of thing that got a man interested in having children before anything else could happen, Draco whipped his rapier out to fight, slender sword carving deadly strokes in the air.

Hermione woke, but her tired muscles could not move quick enough to get out of bed before she was headbutted with such viciousness that she nearly blacked out. Fighting back against the blackness with words in her mind that she half-remembered but apparently knew by heart (_I took the road less traveled by/Do not go gentle into that good night/Death will learn nothing from me_) she literally thought herself to consciousness and punched her foe. He had a quizzical look on his face before she slugged him again, right before her hands reached her staff and the words of light touched her lips.

The light scattered and illuminated features that could not be brightened...

Cho got up slowly, which didn't matter since her intruder picked her up and threw her into the wall. This meant she landed near her arrows, and with the shock of being thrown helping her wake up from a sad dream, she groped for them, stabbing back with a weapon she could not take the time to fire. Her enemy inched back, apparently not having prepared for this emergency. Cho took the initiative and advanced.

Ernie Macmillan never got to his weapon. Instead, he woke to an enemy whose first blow had knocked the door down, and as Ernie stood with the unsettling agility of the long-time fat, he found himself assailed with punches and kicks. But the life of a fat but otherwise healthy man is one marked by feats of endurance belied by their weight, and the blows more angered Ernie than hurt him. Ernie launched himself head-on at his foe, a missile of weight and heft and midnight snacks, and the force of his blow knocked his opponent down and out. Ernie laid into him with his fists, surprisingly muscular and broad shoulders working under their sheath of fat. Soon his opponent could not have told left or right, even if he'd had face enough to look in their directions.

Ernie kept pounding, straddling his enemy in the doorway of his room, the battle beginning to rage in the hallway not a flicker in his mind. He didn't notice even when Neville showed up.

Neville had been awoken to a thousand confusing thoughts, but first and foremost was that his hammer was not where he'd left it. Looking for it quickly, his enemy found it for him as he rushed in and tripped over the hefty mace. Neville stepped on his shadow-hidden foe's face and grabbed his weapon, and in that instant hit the greatest run of luck in his life. He never thought about it like that- he was too proud of himself for his actions that night for deeper introspection- but it was like all the luck he'd lacked in his life was being saved for this, and he was saved by it time after time again.

His luck went in the spurts between his running and moving, and started with this. He struck his opponent with a blow that almost cracked the floor, killing the creature in a moment.

After that, everything seemed to happen in fast forward. In thinking so uncharacteristic of him as to be actually sent, he thought of the others and their possible danger, and these were his thoughts...

Burst of running- Seamus, in the hallway, pinning somebody to the floor with a spear. A swing of hammer and the foe was down- more running, some scattered laughing from Seamus as the spearman thanked him and switched targets to go save someone else, possibly Hermione-

Parvati's room, bad guy on floor, Parvati down, didn't look hurt, hammer swing, ooh, this one didn't die first time, wriggling a bit, moaning, hit him some more, yes, he's gone out of it that time- more running, Parvati staggering up, she's fine and talking, can't hear the words, too busy moving-

Ron's room, he's giving his foe hell, swinging away like a chainsaw on sugar candy, enemy is just dodging, too scared to get near him, maybe I shoud yell something at bad guy, ooh, good distraction, he turned and Ron didn't even blink at Neville, just ran the bad guy through with a grunt of **Thanks**- more running-

Cho swinging arrows, huh, that's weird, oh look mister _there's a hammer in your face!_ Cho stabbing him as he fell to finish him off, she can finish here- more running-

Seamus in hall now, he's still laughing, that's creepy, he's yelling something that sounds like an order and Parvati's behind him now, and Hermione too, there's some guy in the hall that's fighting them like a cornered rat but Seamus knows what he's doing, he's got him tied up against the wall with his spear and Hermione's staff, and Parvati just whipped the piss out of the guy's face from behind them. Guess that was on Seamus' orders, huh, Seamus looks all black in the hall, and he's shouting orders like a general- black general yelling orders, that's crazy-

Draco's room, he's got the bad guy pinned, doesn't look like he actually needs help. Watch him slit a guy's throat, wow that's disturbing, slipped right in his guard and killed him in a second. But kinda fancy too- more running-

Harry's room.

Neville's luck didn't stop but he did, and the mad chaos of thoughts he'd had slowly folded into a simpler form. _Harry was dying_. He was being choked to death, his kicks weak, his eyes bleary, unclear.

Too bad for the bad guy that Neville had just perfected a style of fighting he would call " Battering Ram". It involved a big hammer and people's heads, knees, or any body part Neville could comfortably reach. Maybe he'd call it " Hammer Smacker" instead. No, that was a porn title. Save Harry, then decide.

Neville's blow nearly took his foe's head right off his shoulders, killing him instantly. Harry choked in breath, great heaping gobs that made Neville glad to have helped him. Neville stopped to catch the breath he hadn't really lost, and that was when the lights kicked on and the Shadow Lupins- for that was who had attacked them all, sans weapons- disappeared.

" You have been successful in surviving your first test," Snape said, as he and Lupin walked into the room.

-R & R! And Neville's part is meant to be slightly funny- I laughed a bit at myself when I wrote the _hammer in your face_ line. Ah, good times and fanfiction. How it was meant to be.


End file.
